


Challenge Two: Secrets and Lies

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Summer Pornathon 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 99,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Two: Secrets and Lies for the 2014 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/102580.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**1.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** suggestion of past violence/trauma

"Hi," Merlin says as he looks in the mirror, stretches his lips until his cheeks hurt, his teeth show, until he has as convincing a smile as he can make it. "Hi, my name’s Michael Emerson."

***  
Arthur Pendragon lives in 3C. Merlin learns this one night when he can’t sleep, having woken up from another nightmare, and decides he needs some fresh air. He finds himself in the inner courtyard’s community garden where Arthur’s sitting on a bench, smoking. 

"Rough night?" he says, then blows smoke out the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," Merlin says. Orange light from the pathway lamps spills over the ground, but the shadows are deep green and black, blue over Arthur’s face. Arthur offers him a fag, and they talk.

***

"Hi," Merlin says, sticks his hand out for his new employer. "Hi, I’m Michael Emerson."

***

Arthur Pendragon has a meaningful name. It used to mean more, Arthur tells him, used to be a Family name, capital letter and all that. Before his father lost everything. Before Arthur saw his trust fund emptied and had to work to pay his way through college. But it still means something, Merlin knows. It’s still Arthur’s.

Merlin likes saying it at random moments during the day, sees the way Arthur instinctively reacts to it, hums in acknowledgement without lifting his eyes from the magazine he’s reading. 

Merlin tries to remember that hum, the unconscious tilt of Arthur’s head toward the sound of his name. 

He practices them in front of the mirror every morning. 

***

"Nah, it’s just me," Merlin says when his co-workers ask questions. That’s what the papers the cops had made him memorise said: Michael Emerson. 25. No family. "It’s just me."

***

Merlin wakes with the echo of a scream dying around him, unsure if it’s his or the one from his dreams. He takes deep breaths and shivers, the sheets cool and damp with sweat around his waist. _You’re safe now, son. You’re safe_ , the cop had said.

Arthur’s in the garden, and Merlin’s knees are so weak, his chest heavy and filled with fear, with aches. He misses home.

Arthur doesn’t say anything, lets Merlin climb into his lap, legs on each side of him on the bench.

Merlin holds Arthur’s face between his hands. The air’s pungent and heavy with summer night, with soil from the garden and sun-drenched leaves slowly cooling. Arthur’s mouth tastes like mint and the vague lingering bitterness of smoke.

 _You’re safe now, son._

When Arthur wraps strong, long fingers around Merlin’s cock, Merlin whimpers, panting loud, harsh breaths against Arthur’s jaw. He sucks wet kisses across Arthur’s neck, clings to him with sweaty fingers, knees like a vice on his hips, and fucks Arthur’s hand until the slow burn of his orgasm and the biting edge of Arthur’s teeth on his shoulders are all he can feel.

Arthur wraps his arm around him, holds on tight. "Michael."

***

_Michael Emerson. 25. No family.  
Michael Emerson. 25. No family.   
Michael Emerson. 25. No family._

***

Arthur takes him apart. 

The wet, squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of Merlin’s arse, easy and deliberate, is almost obscene in the heavy stillness of the room.

Yellow light from the street lamps comes in through the slanted blinds, paints long shapes in the the darkness, over the rumpled sheets, their naked skin.

Arthur licks at Merlin’s rim, stretched tight, and skims the edge with his thumb, curls his fingertips up until Merlin sobs, a whining sound low in his throat, like a wounded animal. Then, he pulls out. A slow drag that almost fills Merlin with panic at being left emptied, hole gaping, only made better by the sharp tug Arthur gives his cock before pushing back in, lazy with it. 

They’ve been at it for so long.

Merlin bites at the covers, rubs the sweat off his face against the fabric. His limbs shake, his brain’s fuzzy, and he thinks this might go on forever, that he’ll spend the rest of his life open on Arthur’s fingers and tongue. 

He says, "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," over and over again, tries to put everything he feels into it, something bold and pure between his lips, needs to taste truth on his tongue.

***

"Call me Em," Merlin says. "Please." He traces the shadows around Arthur’s collarbones with a finger. 

Arthur Pendragon is a truthful name.

"Em? Is that for Emerson, or, like, M as in Michael?"

As in Emrys. As in Merlin. 

"Both. Either."

* * *

**2.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana; implied future Arthur/Morgana/Other   
**Warning(s):** Underage (puberty/post-puberty); half-sibling incest; genderfuck

She resists the idea for years, grieving, resenting the loss of her imagined future, but there is a glare to Arthur, a strong, dazzling aura that clings despite his faults. It draws her to him and irritates her in equal measure. 

She dreams of him and, at sixteen, detests feeling like a pawn. If this is to be her fate, she will have a say in it. She corners him in the stables after a hunt.

"If you will train me as a knight, I'll teach you how to please a lady."

"Morgana!" He looks up, startled, from stroking Llamrei's neck. "Why on earth would I – ?" 

"As a courtesy to your future wife," she cuts in.

He laughs. "And that's you, is it?"

"Well it certainly won't be a fat groom or one of your toadying squires!" She's not thinking as she says it, it's pure spite, but she sees the way his eyes go round before icing over, sees the way his jaw clenches, colour staining his cheeks. 

Oho, she thinks, remembering Arthur at ten, eleven, twelve, watching Uther's stallion let down its massive cock; staring at that thieving kitchen boy being spanked bare-arsed in full view of the court; trying _not_ to stare at the acrobats in nothing but loincloths, skin gleaming with oil. 

Lately, all the bright eyes and bare cleavage in the castle are no match for one word of praise from his favourite knights. 

Aha, she thinks, and just like that her future seems less bleak.

"Or should I say," she says, pressing in close, "if you will train me as a knight, I will…" 

She whispers the rest in his ear, hears his breath catch, feels him shiver.

"There's no dishonour in it this way," she promises. "No danger. It will be our secret."

They swear on their dead parents' graves.

* * *

It's only her voice at first. Her will. She bribes handsome guards to strip off and wrestle in the courtyard, urging Arthur to watch from his window. She stands behind him and tells him it's all right, that she knows his thing is getting all stiff and red in his trousers.

"Take it out and touch it," she says, "like you do at night, but with eyes open."

Then one time, impatient, she reaches around and takes him in hand. She doesn't expect to enjoy it, but it feels good in her hand and he makes the most gratifying sound, almost as if he's been wounded.

"Ah," he cries, letting go and bracing himself on the window ledge, straining into her grip. "Gods…oh, that's… _Morgana._ "

His naked bottom presses hard against her, and she squeezes her thighs together, giving an experimental thrust. There is a surge of pleasure, of power; by the time he spends in her hand she feels as if there are sparks flying under her skin. 

"Hold," she gasps, clamping her arm around his hips. She shoves her other hand between them and thrusts harder, riding her own fingers cradled in the cleft of his arse. 

By the time she comes he is hard again, flushed as red as he ever gets, and he won't meet her eyes. He is trembling with need. Feeling benevolent, she kisses his shoulder and runs her palms over his hips.

"Go on," she says, rubbing all the wet – his and hers both – into his skin. He surprises her by pressing his left hand over hers, inching it back as he spreads his legs as wide as his fallen trousers will allow. He remembers himself then, jerking his hand away, but it's too late. She knows what he's after.

"I think I shall dress as a boy next time." She reaches to cup and squeeze his tender balls, then trails two fingers up behind, rubbing at all the smooth, sweaty skin, the little pucker hidden away between his legs. Like this, all messy, he feels as slick as a girl. "Borrow a fat pestle and a bottle of oil." 

He groans, now tugging furiously at his prick. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, having something just…here?" She presses a fingertip to his hole, keeps it there as he spurts for the second time.

There must be a way to rig up some sort of harness, she thinks. And perhaps, someday, she'll find them a third, a pretty warm mouth who won't mind going down on his knees and is good at keeping secrets.

* * *

**3.**

**Pairing(s):Leon/Mordred/Percival**   
**Warning(s): None**

Mordred has no idea how much trouble that splash of water will cost him. He's still laughing when Percy shoves him backwards. Even with the resistance of the water - the lake was too clear and the water warm enough to be an irresistible temptation - Mordred still loses his balance and falls back. He expects to smoothly ease down; instead he lands on something solid. Before he knows it two strong arms lock Mordred's arms to his chest, and immobilise his upper body. "Little troublemaker," someone chuckles, and Mordred recognises Leon's voice. He tries to twist away but he's helpless in the water. Percy approaches them grinning. 

"Nice catch there," he hums. The water level barely licks his pecks. Damm they're both huge with Leon. "Think we can eat him for dinner?" 

"Mmm," Leon purrs in Mordred's ear. "He's rather small to feed the both of us, don't you think?" He bites Mordred's earlobe and his tongue flicks over the skin. Mordred shudders. Pleasure runs through his body and his cock throbs lightly. He moves his foot back and shifts his weight, gluing his lower body to Leon's. He can feel his fellow knight's growing hardness against his ass. 

Percy blatantly invades Mordred's personal space. His hands brush Mordred's sides but don't linger. There's a tug, a pull, and then they're sandwiched together. Percy's cock presses into Mordred's lower abdomen. 

Leon's grip on Mordred slackens and his hands trail down and rest on Mordred's hips. His pelvis is leisurely rocked back and forth as much as the space between them allows. Percival smirks and traces Mordred's lower lip with a wet finger. 

"Your big secret is safe with us, little knight," Leon coos. His now fully hard cock presses snugly in the crevice of Mordred's ass. Leon's... proportional, to say the least. 

"What secret?" Mordred feigns innocence. He knows - they know - it's as fake as his apparent calm under such openly sexual attack. Not that he minds - and that's only the confirmation. He wonders how much they know, are they aware of the dark and secret nights during which he gets himself off on the thought of Percy and Leon sandwiching him in much the same way, bites his lower lip pretending that it's Leon's teeth which cause the sweet pain, pretends that his three slicked fingers are actually Percy's cock which stretches him so good- 

A hand strokes the length of his cock and he nearly moans. 

"Water's boiling around you, hot little knightling," Percy groans. The way his voice fucking vibrates, Mordred wonders if it sounds the same way when he- 

He tosses his head back onto Leon's shoulder when the latter's hand caresses his balls and starts stroking him. "We'd be really offended if you seriously thought we hadn't noticed the way you look at us sometimes... The way you swallow hard when we change our clothes or completely undress... And can we forget that one time when Percy tackled me to the ground and pretended I was his bride to be on our wedding night?" 

Leon chuckles at the last bit. Percy smiles too. They have pressed him tight between their big muscular bodies, both of them so tall and strong, both well hung, both so deliciously... big. The tip of Mordred's cock rubs against Percy's thigh every now and then, when Leon changes the angle. It's impossibly hard not to let out a single sound when Percy is teasing him with his tongue, brushing his lips against Mordred's but not really kissing him. Mordred tries to initiate it, tries to kiss but Percy is quick and cruel and he only smiles when Mordred fails. 

He's so close, panting hard, he can feel the pleasure pooling, edging, almost tipping over- 

"Hey!" Gwaine hollers. "Don't haggle the kid all for yourselves, you big perverts!" 

Leon and Percy let go of Mordred and step away. "No, of course not." Percy smiles, never taking his eyes off Mordred. "We'd wait until it's dark."

* * *

**4.**

Pairing: Gwen/Leon  
Warnings: Animal play (both participants are fully human)

It is no secret that the Queen and her First Knight are lovers; they are so with the King’s blessing. Just who has the upper hand in such matters is more of a matter for debate, and neither Guinivere nor Leon elaborate on that at all. While unashamed of their trysting, they keep the details between themselves.

But what Leon has never admitted, not even to Gwen, is that he enjoys being at her disposal. The position of First Knight is more than one of prestige; it is a position that enables him to serve as well as protect her. When she pulls him against her and tugs at his hair, and begs him to fuck her harder, faster, he does so enthusiastically, because it is a command.

He would do anything for her. He thinks about this often, and during those rare times that he is alone, the details consume his imaginings. But it would debase her to ask her to do such things, so they remain solely in his mind; aching, lonely thoughts.

Then, one day, Arthur gives her a trinket, something he picked up in one of his infrequent forays down into the market. It is simply a long ribbon of burgundy velveteen, with a bell strung on it. Gwen is playing with it against her skin a couple of nights later, when Leon visits. He compliments it; that shade has always looked beautiful on her.

"Do you think so?" she asks, seeming a little ashamed as she admits, "I’m not sure I like it." And, then, as a joke, purely, she stands up and ties it around his neck.

Her murmur of mirth turns to a surprised look as she feels him tense up, and watches him swallow. She starts to remove it, but his hand stays hers. "No. Leave it," he says.

After that, a flood gate opens silently, for both of them. She pretends to neglect him, making him sit for an hour beside her chair as she reads, or curl at the foot of her bed able to only watch as she pleasures herself. He is allowed only to eat tidbits with her fingers. When she touches his hair, it is with the patronizing air of one petting a kitten. When she does finally allow him release, it is more powerful than what he’s ever felt before, and they both take note of it.

One night, she shows him something she had ordered for him. "What is it?" he asks, running his hands over the stiff piece of tan leather. There is a short tuft of horse-hair on one end; the other end is a long, slim, tapered cylinder of some dark-colored hardwood. She won’t answer him, though, only offers to show him. After he is in his proper, disrobed state, of course.

"Promise me no one will know," he begs, suddenly doubting his loyalty, a moment before she sets it into place. "That this is our secret, like everything else." She kisses his cheek, and promises, and then she slides the oiled plug into his ass. His low moan puts doubts to rest for her; for him, the thrill of probing, humiliated violation does the same.

He squirms, and gasps as his clenching makes him keenly aware of how there’s something lodged there. The lion-like tail juts in a gentle curve from between his asscheeks; he can feel it rocking the plug inside of him, the whole affair fiendishly, perfectly counterbalanced, as he crawls on all fours to the rug by the fireplace. The bell around his neck chimes gently.

She lies down beside him, stroking his long mane of curly brown hair. Every now and then, her finger slides down to nudge the bell and coax more soft music from it. She rubs her cheek against his, and her breasts against his back; she runs her hands down the thick golden hair that covers his chest and runs down his belly, like an extension of a lion’s mane. He rumbles and finds himself stretching his arms and legs out stiffly, his fingers flexing, kneading like claws. As her palm glides over his lean, muscled hip and moves lower to jostle the tail, he licks his chops and makes a low growling sound again, his eyes closing to slits as he feels himself getting hard.

She closes her hand around that hardness. "My brave Leon, my powerful lion, my beautiful beast, my _pet_ …" she murmurs, lips brushing his ear.

When she finally gets on all fours and lets him mount her, he bites the back of her neck and takes her eagerly, proving himself a loyal and proper pet, indeed.

* * *

**5.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, background Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Infidelity

The bedroom stank of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke; the fan was running full blast against the summer heat, not quite loud enough to drown out the thrum of traffic outside; and Morgana’s head was buried between Gwen’s thighs.

They’d done this enough times that Morgana was getting to be a pro. She knew just how Gwen tasted, just how her thighs quivered when she was properly enjoying herself; she knew where Gwen was sensitive and where she was too-sensitive. Gwen didn’t like having her clit touched, so she had to work around it, licking long and slow up either side and around till Gwen squealed.

Gwen squealed. Her fingers trailed across the back of Morgana’s head, toying with her hair. "Put your fingers in me." Her voice was breathy. "Please."

Morgana sucked a hot kiss below her clit and pushed two fingers up inside her, roughly. There was no point being gentle; this wasn’t gentle. They’d never been gentle. She moved her fingers in and out slowly as she licked, drawing her tongue up and down between Gwen’s folds until her thighs began to shake and she was gasping, gasping. 

Gwen said, "yes, yes, yes, like that," and then she mewled. Gwen always mewled when she came, mewled like a kitty. Morgana sometimes wondered if she made that noise for him, or if it was just for her. Gwen’s thighs shook and twitched, and then went slack, her legs falling open. 

Morgana tugged out her fingers, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and crawled up the bed, trailing her fingers across Gwen’s thighs, her belly, her tits. Gwen smiled at her sunnily, the smile that always made Morgana feel like they were just a couple sharing a moment together. She smiled back, smiled as Gwen reached up and toyed with her sweaty hair where it was hanging down over her shoulder, smiled as Gwen hummed in contentment.

The moment didn’t last. On the bedside table Gwen’s phone lit up, buzzing in a quick one-two-three rhythm. Gwen let go of Morgana’s hair and groped for it. When she saw the name on the screen she swore. "Shit. It’s him." 

She pushed Morgana away and rolled out of bed. She didn’t answer the phone till she was out of the bed room, hovering on the landing, as if that made it better. "Arthur!" she trilled. "Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"

Morgana settled in, propping herself against the pillows, and lit another cigarette. They’d probably talk a while. He always had plenty of shit to talk about, when he was away on business. Stupid anecdotes and gossip that Gwen laughed at and chatted about like she hadn’t just had another woman’s mouth on her cunt.

Sometimes – most times – Morgana considered calling out while Gwen was on the phone to him. It wouldn’t take much, just _hey, come back to bed_ would make him at least confused, if not outright suspicious.

But it’s not like it would make any different. He trusted Gwen, and he thought she was straight, so it wasn’t like she have any difficulty convincing him it was nothing. And then after she’d be angry, and she’d make Morgana leave, and it might be ages before she let her back in.

Besides, Gwen was always at her most fun right after talking to her husband. Once she’d hung up the phone she jumped straight back into bed, bouncing on the mattress, bright-eyed and excited, her cunt still wet. "Sorry about that."

"S’okay." Morgana stubbed out her cigarette and let Gwen kiss her, tongue sliding straight into her mouth. Gwen liked kissing Morgana after she’d eaten her out, while her mouth still tasted of pussy. She liked kissing Morgana right after talking to her husband.

Some time, Morgana thought, some time she should have Gwen call up her husband while she was going down on her, call him up and listen to his stupid anecdotes and his _sweethearts_ and his _loves_ and his _I miss yous_ while she had Morgana’s tongue up her cunt. But not today. No. Next time, maybe. Next time he went away.

* * *

**6.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur cheating on Arthur/Vivian  
 **Warning(s):** infidelity

The two tables were probably about ten metres apart altogether. Arthur had never measured. He was just glad that the bookcases that lined either side provided about as much privacy as one could get in the university library.

He was also glad that Vivian sat diagonal to him; not directly across, where she’d block his view, and not beside him, where she’d most certainly be able to tell what he was doing.

Arthur was wanking.

But the other bloke was, too. In fact, Arthur was pretty sure it was the other bloke who’d started it. The first time it happened, Arthur had simply been tapping his pencil, waiting for Vivian to give up trying to play the hardworking student so they could go back to his room and fuck. He’d only happened by chance to catch sight of the boy across the room who was surreptitiously palming his crotch under the table. Arthur had abruptly stopped tapping his pencil and stared.

He’d got hard watching him, the boy with dark hair and long eyelashes that seemed to kiss his cheekbones every time he blinked. His face had been tilted down, looking at an open book, so Arthur hadn’t got a good view of his face until he suddenly looked up, straight at Arthur, like he could feel Arthur’s gaze.

The how’s and when’s were a bit blurry now, but that’s how they’d got here. The boy’s girlfriend—Arthur assumed it was his girlfriend, because he’d seen them kiss a few times after leaving the library—also sat diagonal to him, mirroring the position of Arthur and Vivian. It always started with just palming themselves through their jeans, sneaking quick glances over to their respective partners to see how absorbed they were in their work, before the zips came undone. That was always the difficult part, having to synchronise the turning of a page with the quick downward motion to disguise the unfastening of metallic teeth. A cough or a sneeze helped as well.

Arthur used to worry about things like cameras and other people suddenly walking by, but after a while he’d relaxed. It had become a routine, every Thursday, like clockwork. He and Vivian would come to the library around five or so, the other boy and his girlfriend would already be here, and by six it had started. After ten minutes of tortuously slow build-up, two minutes of working up the nerve to actually pull a cock outand maybe six more minutes of real wanking, one of them would take the initiative to get up and go to the toilets to finish. Once one got back, the other went. It was a good system, really.

Until Arthur started to think about the boy while fucking Vivian. Then it had got weird.

He wondered if the boy thumbed the slit like he did, rubbed precome over his shaft to make it glisten. He wondered what it looked like up close, if the musky smell would differ slightly from his own, what it would be like to run his tongue up the underside to the leaking tip.

Arthur’s erection throbbed at that, heat flooding his thighs and pushing him closer. He could feel the tension coiling in his groin, and he let his imagination wander—What if they were alone in the library, if the lights went out and the doors locked and Arthur crawled under the table, taking that lovely cock in his mouth? What if those fingers twisted in his hair, not like Vivian’s when she just lightly pet him, but pulled hard enough to tug on the roots as he sucked the boy’s dick? How much would those perfect lips part then? How far back would his head tilt, exposing that beautiful throat and making his Adam’s apple jut out? Arthur wanted to see this bloke _really_ lose it, wanted to reduce him to shudders and whimpers and moans, wanted to gag on it—

Arthur had never come in the library before. But his imagination had never drifted that far either, so when his orgasm hit him suddenly, forcefully, making him gasp and pulse, Arthur was only ninety percent surprised. The other ten percent thought, _Of course you just came on yourself you fucking pervert, bloody_ look _at him!_

* * *

**7.**

 **Pairing(s):** Elena/Vivian, Vivian/OC (implied)  
 **Warning(s):** Underage character discovering masturbation, a couple terrible euphemisms, the slippery slope that leads to pony play

At some vague point between Elena’s ninth and tenth years, she became aware of a sensation, originating in her seat, that would shiver through her when she rode astride. 

Being a logical girl and fond of shivery feelings, she neglected to wear smallclothes before her daily rides until the grooms noticed and, red-faced, tattled to her nanny. 

Which was silly, because from that day forward she simply raced out of range of her maids and peeled her undergarments off in solitude.

xxx

She enjoyed many fine afternoons that way, until the morning she was discovered by a small group of rough-looking folk who called themselves traders. 

Even after Grunhilda had chided her into hiding her favourite pastime, Elena had never felt shame for it. But then, she’d never been caught grinding against her pommel while her horse lazily cropped grass before, either. Some fine rider she must seem.

The trader in charge, who called herself Isolde, did not remark upon Elena’s rumpled state except to give her a small, hard bulb strung on leather cords before she left. 

"It’s for your saddle," she said with a sly smile. "It will help."

xxx

The bulb was hard wood covered in stretched lambskin and it took Elena almost a full year to discover she could strap it to her stirrup bars and it would catch inside her like a clever thumb while she rode.

—xxx—

The Lady Vivian wasn’t much of a horsewoman and Elena had only wanted some time to herself, but Mother Nature conspired against her with a nasty thunderstorm that sent her retreating to the stables almost as soon as she’d made her escape. 

Vivian was waiting for her there, arms crossed and mouth pinched. 

"Your skills as a hostess leave much to be desired," she said. "Come down now and take some lukewarm, tasteless refreshments with me." 

"Ehm," Elena said, shifting. 

"Now!" Vivian stamped her foot. 

Elena’s dismount made a slick sound that couldn’t be blamed on her damp riding gown. 

Vivian put her hand to her mouth. Elena squeezed her legs together and examined the floor. 

"I recognise this workmanship," Vivian breathed, gesturing toward the saddle. Elena’s head snapped up. 

The expression on Vivian’s face was disarmingly familiar: annoyance. 

"I cannot believe you never told me!" She prodded Elena sharply in the arm.

xxx

"—and it has been so _ghastly_ dull without my maid. Father forbade me bringing her," Vivian said, barely pausing for breath as she shut and bolted the door to her chambers, shoving Elena in the direction of the bed. "He could grow suspicious of a eunuch, given enough time," she added. 

"What?" Elena said, but Vivian carried on as if she hadn’t heard. She may well not have, with Elena’s face smushed into her pillow as it was. 

Vivian pulled Elena’s hips up and flipped the skirt of her dress over her head. 

"I’ve been so anxious to try this one, I can’t believe I never thought of you. You’re much sturdier than Eloise, after all," Vivian said, knelt behind her. 

And then she settled something blunt and hard against Elena’s cunt and shoved it inside.

xxx

So it seemed, with the proper motivation, the Lady Vivian had real potential as a rider. 

Her phallus was like Elena’s bulb, only much larger, with straps that tied around her waist and thighs. Vivian worked it against Elena’s insides with enthusiastic posting that left Elena gasping wetly and digging her fingers into the mattress. 

"Oh yes, yes, _yes_ ," Vivian squealed, slowing down to pant for a few minutes before doing it all again. Once. Twice. A third time. 

Elena thought she might lose her mind.

xxx

Vivian rolled her over and slid back in, looking satisfied for the first time since she’d arrived. 

"Oh Elena, you poor thing," she said, rolling her hips. The sound they made together was liquid; Elena had never felt so flush. The mattress under her rump was wet. "I know just the trick. You need to greet your woman on the mound," she said brightly, her small, clever fingers spreading Elena’s pink lips wide, "and see, you lift her hood to say hello, and—"

Elena arched off the bed, keening so sharply Vivian threw herself on top of her and covered her mouth with her slippery palm. 

"So help me, I will fit you with a bit if I have to," Vivian hissed, and Elena felt her eyes roll back as she grabbed Vivian’s arse and pulled her in tight with both hands.

* * *

**8.**

 **Pairing (s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Religious themes in a sexual context, implied age-difference

Merlin has come to the small parish of Ealdor fresh out of seminary, young and full of enthusiasm. But even he wouldn't claim that listening to old women confessing to having used the Lord's name in vain or lying about the amount of butter in their scones receipt makes for an interesting Saturday evening. 

He's quite ready to call it a day when he hears soft, shuffling footsteps beyond the veil, followed by the slight creak of someone sitting down on the hard wooden bench of the confessional. 

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been six months since my last confession." 

The voice is male, young, and a little breathless, and when Merlin catches a glimpse of golden blond hair through the screen, he realises who the penitent is. Arthur Pendragon. The major's son. Never misses a Sunday's service, which Merlin thinks is unusual for a boy of seventeen. 

"Tell me then," he encourages the youth. "What sins do you have to confess?"

Arthur swallows. "I have impure thoughts, Father." 

"Of what nature?"

"I think of touching someone. A man."

Merlin winces in sympathy. His church would want him to tell the boy how that's a mortal sin, but Merlin can't agree. 

"I can't stop staring at him," Arthur continues. "At his long pale neck and his beautiful mouth. I want to kneel down before him on the cold stone floor and part his cassock..."

Merlin's eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his own breath.

"I imagine wrapping my hand around his prick," Arthur whispers. "How hot and hard it would be. How it would feel to bend down and taste him. I want to worship him, Father, right here in this house of God. Do you... Do you think I'm depraved for having such thoughts?"

Merlin's mouth is dry. "It's not for me to pass judgement," he croaks. "If you regret your sins--"

Arthur sounds rueful. "I'm not sure I do, Father."

\---

"I've had those dreams again, Father."

Merlin closes his eyes but forces himself to speak. "Your dreams are not your fault, but you must banish them from your mind while awake."

"I'm trying, Father, but..." A shuddered breath, and then Merlin freezes when he hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down. "It's all I can think of. Him, bend over, lifting up his cassock and spreading his legs. I want to part his cheeks and lick at his hole. Feel him shiver beneath me... hear his moans echo in the silent church... watch him come apart... oh God... Father!"

\---

"Arthur, you have to actually _repent _if you--"__

__"Do you repent then, Father?"_ _

__"What--?"_ _

__"I can feel your eyes linger on me during service, you know. When I sit all demure, with my head bowed in prayer."_ _

__Merlin opens his mouth to deny it, but how can he when he's painfully hard right now, listening to the sounds Arthur makes while stroking his cock? He's the worst kind of hypocrite._ _

__"Do you touch yourself like this at night, Father?" Arthur pants. "Do you think of me while trying not to come? Don't lie. That's a sin as well."_ _

____

\---

"God, I love how tight you are around my fingers. You're so beautiful like this. I want to push my prick inside you, Father. Will you let me? Will you let me fuck you?"

A sob escapes Merlin's throat and Arthur hums. 

"Touch yourself," comes the whispered command. "Think of me fucking you hard and fast with your cassock shoved up around your hips, over the pews, right in front of God."

\---

"This has to stop." 

"You don't want it to stop."

"I do. I- I've requested a transfer." 

"What?" Arthur stumbles out of his seat and, next thing, he's on his knees in front of Merlin, looking dishevelled and staring up at him with frantic blue eyes. "But... you can't! I... I love you, Merlin!" He has never sounded so vulnerable. So hurt. "And I know you love me, too. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me!"

There's no air in Merlin's lungs. Just cold fear drowning out everything else. "I don't," he whispers, shaking his head, needing it to be true. "I can't."

When the gate of the church falls shut a moment later, the heavy sound reverberates in Merlin's heart with painful finality. He sits alone in the gloomy silence of the church for a long time, wondering whether that last lie hasn't been the worst of his sins in the end.

* * *

**9.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

Arthur walks into the bedroom he's shared with Merlin for five weeks and stops short. "Uh, I can explain."

Merlin turns, still holding the red silk panties in one hand, and just raises an eyebrow. He doesn't look pissed -- if anything, the glint in his eye looks more like the one he gets when he's planning something the kind of completely ridiculous that usually ends with copious amounts of alcohol, getting thrown out of public places, or orgasms. (Or, notably, that once that involved all three.) "Can you?" He just grins, the fucker, and smooths the fabric with one hand.

So clearly he's not worried they're some random girl's. Arthur's not sure whether to be relieved his boyfriend knows he'd never cheat or miffed that Merlin seemed to have no problem jumping to (admittedly, correct) conclusions. "Never mind, it's -- just give them here." He can feel his cheeks heating. It's not -- he just. This is _his_ , his secret thing he's never had to share with anyone.

Something on his face must give away his discomfort, for Merlin's expression softens. "Sorry," he says, and at least has the decency to look a little chastised. "I was just looking for a pair of your socks and felt something smooth and. Well."

In hindsight, hiding them in the back of his sock drawer was probably not the most brilliant of ideas. Merlin's been stealing his socks more or less the entire time they've been dating. Apparently his "posh" socks kept Merlin's feet warmer better than any of his own ratty ones. Arthur just hadn't found a better place to put them once they'd moved in together.

"Although for what it's worth," Merlin starts, more than a little bit of interest apparent in his drawl, "the thought of you in these is driving me insane."

Now that Arthur looks, he can definitely see the outline of Merlin's cock in his trousers, and the sharp jolt of arousal the sight brings is enough to break through the hazy mortification. "Oh," he says, a bit dumbly, somehow never having considered the possibility that Merlin would be interested in this. He reaches down to adjust himself, suddenly hot and a hundred per cent on board. "Yeah, all right."

He barely gets a moment to react before Merlin's fully pressed against him. The kiss is a little sloppy: Merlin's grin is too wide and he's already all but panting as one of Merlin's hands works his trousers open. "Clothes off," Merlin says against his lips, and Arthur hurriedly complies, stripping faster than he realised was possible. He sits on the edge of the bed and Merlin kneels in front of him, eyes dark and wild as he puts Arthur's feet through the holes of the panties. Every painstaking inch, every time the material catches on his leg hairs, the drag of the silk on his skin, it's all working to make Arthur impossibly hard. He lifts his hips and lets Merlin fix them into position.

When Merlin sits back on his heels to look at him in his entirety, Arthur feels half-wild with embarrassment and satisfaction and lust. He can feel his cock straining against the red silk, the head leaking against his stomach, held into place by the elastic band. He knows he must look ridiculous and obscene, but if there's anything besides approval and hunger in Merlin's eyes, Arthur can't see it.

"Fuck," Merlin says, and leans forward to nudge Arthur's legs even further apart. His words are hot puffs of air against the inside of Arthur's knees. "If you had any idea what you looked like right now." His hands tremble when they trace the edge of the fabric around Arthur's thighs.

Only a moment later, Merlin's fingers slip under the silk to wrap around Arthur's cock. Arthur's already wound so tight, he knows it's going to be an embarrassingly short time until he comes.

"Next time," Merlin says, voice hatefully even as he does _something_ with his wrist that wrests a strangled moan from Arthur, "I'm going to fuck you while you wear those. Stretch you and fill you with so much lube that you're open and leaking in those pretty panties until I can just push them to the side and slide right in."

Arthur's orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. By the time he comes back to himself, Merlin's peeling the sodden panties from him and pressing soft kisses into the side of his neck.

Next time can't come soon enough.

* * *

**10.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Gwen, One sided Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None

Gwen looked at Merlin and then Hunith. "We’re pregnant."

"I’m so happy for the two of you!" Hunith cried. "When did the two of you start dating?"

"Eight months."

"Nine months."

They both started to panic until Gwen thought of something.

"We’ve been close for so long that we couldn’t even tell when the friendship started turning into more," Gwen explained as she slipped her hand into Merlin’s. 

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

~*~

Gwen fiddled with the bottom of her shirt while her eyes remained locked on the bathroom door. 

"Are you ready yet, Gwen?" Merlin’s voice broke out of her trance.

"Almost?" Gwen responded nervously. "Merlin, the shirts can stay on, right?"

He didn’t respond for at least a minute before she heard his awkward response. "I took mine off."

"Well I’m the one with tits so it’s staying on."

She pushed off her jeans and underwear in one go. When she finally came out of the bathroom Gwen noticed that Merlin averted his eyes.

"Merlin, it’s okay to look at me."

"So you’re sure about this, yeah?" Merlin asked.

"I want a baby, you want a baby, and you’re the only one I feel comfortable doing this with so yes. I’m sure."

Gwen approached the bed and giggled a bit at the sight of the sheet covering Merlin. The amusement faded as soon as she pulled back the blanket but in an act of brashness she straddled Merlin’s lap.

"Just imagine I’m that hot bloke Arthur from the coffee shop," she murmured as she cupped his flaccid cock.

He snorted. "I should say the same to you about his sister, Morgana."

"I’m serious, Merlin." Gwen said in a hushed tone while slowly moving her hand. "Picture Arthur giving you the best blow job of your life. His blonde hair all mused and full lips stretched to their limit. You warn him you’re going to come but he ignores the warning and swallows your seed."

"Shit, Gwen." Merlin groaned. She could feel his cock getting hard in her hand but she wasn’t done yet.

"When he pulls away your dick leaves his mouth with a wet ‘pop’. It’s then you notice some come dribbling down his chin. It prompts you to get hard all over again."

Merlin didn’t speak until he was fully hard. There was a flush on his cheeks and Gwen felt proud that her little plan had worked. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Vagina does it for you. Not dicks."

Gwen smiled cheekily and nodded towards her drawer which contained her vibrators. "I took care of that before you came over. Fantasy Morgana was a very generous lover."

"So, you’re sure about this?" Merlin asked.

"Are you?" Gwen countered.

He nodded.

"Then shut up about it. We’re doing this."

Gwen sucked in a breath as she started to lower herself onto Merlin’s cock. When it was fully inside her she closed her eyes and imagined Morgana was there kissing her neck gently while pumping her fingers in and out of her. The fantasy made her whimper.

When she started moving Gwen opened her eyes so she could look at Merlin. His eyes were both closed and if Gwen looked closely enough she could see Merlin mouthing ‘Arthur’ over and over again.

The second her eyes closed again Gwen returned to her fantasy with Morgana. She could picture her still moving her fingers inside and then using her thumb to rub her swollen clitoris. This image was the one that finally sent her over the edge.

After it was all said and done Gwen and Merlin lay side by side. It was only after the haze had faded that Gwen dared to break the silence.

"Was that good for you?"

Merlin grinned a cheeky little grin. "I’ve had better."

"Shut it, Merlin!" Gwen laughed. "So we’re good, yeah?"

"Of course, Gwen. You’re my best mate."

~*~

Hunith’s smile widened. "Was the baby planned or an unplanned blessing like Merlin was?"

"Mom!"

Gwen laughed. "An unplanned blessing."

"So when is the wedding?" Hunith asked.

It was Merlin’s turn to save face this time

"We’re not thinking that far ahead yet, mom."

It was yet another lie but Merlin and Gwen had no choice. The two of them weren’t ready to come out to either of their parents.

* * *

**11.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/OC, Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Infidelity of a sorty

Sometimes, the guilt welled up unbearably when he looked straight into her eyes.

Merlin didn’t think it strictly counted as lying, to not tell her an incredulous story of centuries past she’d have a hard time believing anyway. But they had been married for over five years now. Now and then the distance of everything unsaid would be so wide, even she could sense it.

Merlin loved Maria. He wouldn’t doubt it for a second, and wouldn’t have married her unless it were true. She deserved nothing less.

But then there were nights like tonight. When Merlin had spent fruitless hours unable to write a single word of his book due to the face with golden hair and shining blue eyes that kept fighting its way from the deep reaches of Merlin’s memories, breaking in and imposing where he wasn’t welcome – as always. Then Maria would come home from work and give her soft sigh when she found Merlin in the dark study, where he likely hadn’t moved or eaten for hours. She’d know she would have to make dinner herself after her already-long day, but she’d come kiss Merlin hello to break him out of his stupor.

After dinner, they’d sit curled up on the couch together. She would fit perfectly curled up next to him, rubbing a hand over his chest or pressing a kiss to his chin, and her warmth would slowly chase away the emptiness gnawing at Merlin from the inside out.

But Merlin well knew she would never be able to fill it. Only one could do that. And every time Merlin looked at their framed wedding photo over the fireplace or turned the ring on his finger, he wished he could drown in the guilt that he’d married for a way to pass the time.

She could never really understand, could she? There wasn’t anything Merlin could confess to, as he’d never physically been unfaithful. It was just that Merlin’s heart had been lying at the bottom of a lake for centuries now, unreachable as it slumbered along with its object of devotion. There was no way for Merlin to explain. Every time he jolted awake in bed with the scream of Arthur’s name on his lips, there simply weren’t words to describe the horror of his nightmares, where he held Arthur’s dying form in his arms again and again, helpless as the life left him and he went cold.

Was it a lie? To not share with his wife the experiences that still defined him? Was it infidelity, to be helpless to the thoughts and dreams and yearnings for another? When they held the crushing, inescapable weight of destiny?

Merlin comforted himself with Maria’s dark hair. He’d gently comb his fingers through it, kiss the corners of green eyes that looked nothing like those he remembered, and smooth his thumb over the edge of lips that were nothing like those he dreamed of. He comforted himself with Maria’s unalikeness, that it meant he couldn’t be drawn to her for any reason but her herself.

When they undressed, sometimes Merlin lost himself in her and what they shared. He always marveled at how soft her skin was, how perfect the weight of her breasts felt in his hands, how sweet her nipples tasted between his lips. Sometimes nothing made him happier than to hear her gasping, broken noises as she lay sprawled open in their bed, Merlin’s mouth pressed deep against her cunt. Merlin loved the taste of her pleasure, the squeeze of her thighs on either side of his head, the feel of her clenching when his tongue reached deep enough for her to come apart.

That made up for other times, when they would make love and even deep inside of her, his face against her neck and her scent enveloping him, another face would come before his eyes. Merlin would have to move his hips harder, hold her thighs tighter, and grit his eyes shut to hold everything in – Arthur’s name and sometimes the tears too. 

Though the tears would almost always come later. Once they’d cleaned up and Maria was holding him, stroking a hand through his hair.

"What is it, babe? Why won’t you ever tell me what’s wrong?"

Merlin would have to swallow down the memories that still destroyed him, the face of the arrogant prince and king who would forever tyrannize Merlin’s anger and every drop of his love, and choke down the bile that tasted of broken marriage vows.

"Nothing. It’s nothing."

* * *

**12.**

 **Pairing(s):** Mordred/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** could be non-con related due to blackmail

A soft knock on his door made Mordred smirk into his wine goblet, briefly, before his door opened and Merlin slipped inside. There was something about the heated anger that flashed in Merlin’s eyes whenever he came via Mordred’s summons. 

There was something that had struck Mordred when he saw Merlin with his hands tied and kneeling in the snow that sparked a lust in the Druid. A lust powerful enough to resort to blackmail again and again to sate it. 

"I see you got my message." Mordred pushed the chair next to him with his foot. He had stopped pouring Merlin wine weeks ago when Mordred noticed Merlin never touched the cup. 

"I still don’t know why you are doing this." Merlin scooted the chair back, out of Mordred’s reach, before allowing himself to drop onto it. Mordred’s smirk returned. Arthur didn’t give his man servant enough credit. Merlin was more like a wild horse, beautiful and bucking against anyone controlling him. 

It made Mordred all the more determined to break him. 

"Come now, Merlin, we have been through this. We both know that you would give _anything_ to avoid Arthur learning of your little secret." 

Merlin hastily put his goblet down. Twisted fingers and a gold flash in Mordred’s eyes precluded Merlin and his chair being dragged over the stone floor until Merlin’s knees bumped lightly into Mordred’s.

Mordred leaned closer to Merlin, finger tracing the sharp angles along Merlin’s jawline.   
"And before you get into the same old, tired script, he hasn’t shown complete trust in you, _has he_ , Merlin?"

Merlin’s fingers dug into the wood of the chair. Mordred knew that Arthur was the one sore spot that Merlin could never overlook when poked. Attacking Merlin was one thing, but attacking Arthur changed all the rules of the game. 

It was the secret that they both know. Merlin’s, _Emrys’s_ , need to protect Arthur. A fate written in the stars. 

"The question, then, is why do you still come?" Mordred shifted the direction of his fingers, to trace Merlin’s hairline down the nape of his neck. "Surely the _great Emrys_ could take out a lowly knight like myself."

"Why must we always play this game, Mordred?"

Reaching with his free hand, Mordred untied Merlin’s neckerchief, tossing the rag into the corner. Merlin’s sharp angles didn’t stop at his face. Merlin’s raised collarbone, just under his pale skin, begged to be kissed. 

Mordred stood, pushing his chair back with his legs, giving himself room to stand. Sliding his fingers up from the nape of Merlin’s neck, Mordred grasped the hair on the back of Merlin’s head and tugged his head back. 

"You know what I think?" Mordred moved his face to mere inches from Merlin’s own. "I don’t think you come here when I call you because you like my cock in you. I am not that delusional. I think you come here to be the martyr, to let me use your body if it means keeping me close."

Merlin’s eyes widened slightly, his breath quickening. Mordred loved the fear in Merlin’s eyes. His blood heated in his veins. "What part do I play in this destiny of yours, Merlin?"

Mordred covered Merlin’s mouth with his own, twisting Merlin’s hair in his hold. He encircled Merlin’s neck with his free hand, feeling Merlin’s pulse race under his fingertips.

"One day, I will learn your secrets about me, Merlin."

Merlin grabbed Mordred, pulling him back in for a kiss as his other hand pulled up Mordred’s shirt and pawed at him until he felt skin. Sliding his hands up Mordred’s spine, Merlin pushed the shirt up. Breaking the kiss, Mordred pulled back to allow Merlin to tug his shirt off. 

Merlin tossed his shirt over to where Mordred had tossed Merlin’s handkerchief. Now, Merlin wore a smirk, thinking the tables had turned into his favor. "Today is not that day, Mordred." 

Mordred hooked his hands into Merlin’s shirt, hauling him out of the chair. "No, today isn’t." Mordred followed Merlin to the floor, reaching for the fastenings to Merlins breaches. If this was the way Merlin wanted to play it tonight, Mordred would be happy to oblige. It was, after all, why he backed Merlin into the proverbial corner to begin with.

* * *

**13.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** horrible trickery and deception of the worst sort

"You know I don’t like video games, Merlin! I don’t see why we can’t do something else today!"

"Arthur, I played football with you and your mates last weekend. Football! So you can play freaking Mario Kart with me today!"

"I’ve never even played this game before! I don’t know what all these buttons mean, Merlin!"

"Don’t worry, it’s really easy to get the hang of, and we’re going to have so much fun, I promise!"

Merlin turned on the Wii, taking the time that his back was turned to hide a devious smirk. He composed himself, assuming the perfect persona of innocence as he handed Arthur a controller and set up the game. Merlin picked their characters and helped Arthur choose a kart. He didn’t even trick him into picking a motorbike for the first time. He wasn’t _that_ mean.

"Do you want to pick the first track?" Merlin offered strategically. 

"No, just pick something easy for the first go." Arthur replied, barely paying attention as he grabbed a soda from the nearby mini fridge. Just as planned. Merlin casually selected the Special Cup, and scrolled down to Rainbow Road. As the three second count down began, Merlin graciously took the time to explain how to play to Arthur. 

"Okay just remember press 2 to go, 1 for reverse, turn the remote to steer, B button to use the box thingies." He rushed out, some of the words jumbling together as Merlin made sure to hit the gas when the countdown got to 2, so that he could get the secret speed boost.

"Wha-" Arthur struggled not to spit out his drink, and fumbled for his controller, pressing the button he thought was the gas while his eyes watered and throat burned from the soda. His kart immediately sped backwards off the track and fell into space.

Arthur slowly turned to look wide-eyed at Merlin, who was giggling like a mad man, sides heaving, shoulders shaking, but somehow his grip on the controller was still steady, and glancing at the T.V. Arthur saw that Merlin was already in first place. And he noticed his character was somehow alive again! Arthur began smashing buttons furiously, cursing all the while, damning the game, his character, and especially his conniving boyfriend. 

An hour later, and Arthur had finally mastered driving in the correct direction, but could not for the life of him catch up to Merlin, who actually fell back intentionally to shoot those damned mystery box things at Arthur. 

"Goddamnit Merlin!! I WAS ABOUT TO BE IN 9TH PLACE, AND NOW WHERE AM I? FUCKING 12TH AGAIN!" Arthur was losing it. He was going ape shit over this game, and he couldn’t calm down. Mario Kart is _serious_.

Merlin laughed crazily, gripping his controller so tightly his palms were red and sweaty. He had maneuvered his kart right behind Arthur’s, and with one more burst of speed- "FUCKING YES, SPIN LIKE A BALLERINA, BITCH!" Merlin screeched, just as Arthur wailed, "WHAT THE HELL MERLIN, THAT’S THE THIRD FUCKING GREEN SHELL YOU’VE HIT ME WITH!" 

Finally regaining control of the little car on screen, Arthur continued to mutter, "How the hell are you even aiming those things anyway, you prat."

Merlin sped up, weaving in and out of the other karts on the screen, and turned to Arthur saying, "Because I’m fucking magical," right as he drove across the finish line in first place.

Arthur just put his head in his hands and gave up. There was no way he could win; the universe must be plotting against him. "That was NOT ‘easy to get the hang of’ Merlin, you lying twat." 

"Don’t be a sore loser! I wish I had recorded your face on Rainbow Road…" Merlin trailed off in chuckles, only stopping at Arthur’s sour look. 

"Okay, okay princess, let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll make it up to you," Merlin said, taking Arthur by the hand and leading him toward the hallway. Arthur wasn’t really angry; he just expected a rematch in the future. But he was willing to let Merlin make it up to him anyways; his boyfriend wasn’t the only one who could be devious.

"You were a princess too, Merlin, or should I say _Peach_?" Arthur shot back, although he followed Merlin willingly enough.

"Oooh, kinky. Now, shut up and fuck me, _Daisy_."

* * *

**14.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Arthur winced as the needle Gwen was threading through the cuff on his wrist came a little too close to his skin. She shot him an apologetic smile and continued working, pulling the fabric out so there was a bit more room.

"I really don’t understand why my clothing needs to be engraved." Arthur complained.

"King Balinor seems to be very fond of certain traditions" Morgana just smirked from where she leaned against the doorway, watching the spectral. 

"Yes, and it’s no problem really." Gwen tied off the thread that she had placed. It had been sent from kingdom Arthur would wed into in the morning. "See, done already."

Arthur shrugged out of the ceremonial coat, passing the heavy material to Gwen. "Marvelous," he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. 

"Thank you Gwen." Morgana said pointedly and Arthur flushed.

"Yes, thank you Guinevere." He shot a glare at Morgana as he pulled on her arm and dragged her out of the room. She laughed falling in step beside him.

"For someone being wed tomorrow you are in a foul mood."

"Thank you for reminding me." He couldn’t help but grimace. He’d been betrothed to Balinor’s heir and only son since he was six. It had never bothered him before.

***

It was simple for him to slip out of the castle. He knew the guards rotations because he was the one that set them. 

The establishment he found himself at was on the outskirts of Camelot, the sign hung by one hinge and was rotting and one of the windows had been replaced by a board. The interior was moderately clean though and Arthur was easily able to grab a pitcher and a table.

He was going to start celebrating his impending nuptials early. 

He’d only made it through his second glass when there was a commotion in the doorway, Arthur stood to his feet and cursed inwardly as the brawl started spreading across the bar.

Someone feel into him and Arthur turned ready to defend himself.

"Sorry, so sorry," the man apologizing had a mop of dark hair on his head and the most ridicules ears he had ever seen. He also looked about as tense as Arthur felt. 

"It’s alright," Arthur grabbed his arm to help him balance as people shoved around him. "You wouldn’t happen to know of another way out of here would you?" A smile lit the other man’s face and he nodded to where one of barmaids was exiting through a door off the bar.

***

"Is it always like that there?" Arthur’s arms were around the stranger’s shoulders as they looked back to where the only other window shattered as someone was thrown out of it.

"I have no idea," the man admitted "that was my first time there." He leaned in closer to Arthur "My name is Emrys."

"Ar.." Arthur paused his mind blanking and he flushed "Armin," coming the first name that came to mind. Emrys was a warm weight against his side and Arthur was sick of thinking about tomorrow. "This is rather forward of me but would you happen to have a room nearby?"

Emrys eyes flashed in surprise and a flush worked its way up the long line of his neck. "I can find one."

***

Arthur gripped Emrys hair, pulling on it so he could get to his throat. He bit at the flesh on display as he pounded into him, both of them moaning. He reached around with his other hand to fist at his cock, pulling it tightly as Emrys spilled over his fist.

With a few more thrusts he came, pressing a kiss to a bare shoulder.

Emrys laughed and curled up against his side. "That was fantastic."

Arthur couldn’t stop smiling.

***

"I still can’t believe you’ve never even met him." Morgana adjusted his collar, smoothing it down before turning to stand beside him at the altar. The crown on his head felt almost as heavy as the expensive coat he wore. 

"The roads between his kingdom and Camelot are dangerous," Arthur stood up straight, watching the doors nervously "father wouldn’t ask them to risk it." Arthur had never really bought that, he had always expected the engagement to be called off.

"Well I hope he isn’t ugly." Morgana muttered as the music started up.

Arthur didn’t let himself panic watching as the doors opened.

The man that stood between King Balinor and Queen Hunith was someone Arthur had met. Arthur had met _Merlin_ last night at the pub.

* * *

**15.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

**Delicious Secret**

It was all Will’s fault. No, really.

Will practically _forced_ Merlin to go to the show that night, and Merlin had asked Mordred and Gwaine to go to, because Arthur said he was busy.

Despite his age (22) and his orientation (gay, thanks!), Merlin had never been to a drag show. Will loved them, and now that he was here, in London, he was determined Merlin would love them, too. 

The performers were great, Merlin admitted, and they were having fun. A whole litany of ladies had already strutted the cat walk – Miss Dee Meanor, Auntie Bellum, Grace Full, Peach Schnapps, Rue D. Day, and others he couldn’t recall. The announcer called the last competitor, and Merlin joined his friends in cheering for "the lovely DEEEEEEE Licious!!!!"

Slinking down the cat walk in a sequined purple gown, working black opera gloves, and dripping with diamonds, she was exquisite, and somehow (despite her blonde hair) reminded Merlin of Morgana. She even looked a bit like her, like a female…

_Arthur._

Merlin felt himself reeling, and looked quickly at his friends. None of them seemed to be paying that much attention. Certainly none of them seemed aware that their friend was currently strutting her stuff to "Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend" under stage lighting. 

It was all Merlin could do to keep Arthur’s secret while the winners were announced. Contest over, Gwaine and Will decided to hit Camelot, and Mordred headed home to his girlfriend. Merlin went home, and sat on the couch waiting, beer in hand, for his roommate. Arthur was bi, had always been, but they’d never had anything. Well, Merlin had a little crush in uni, but that had been over years ago, and they’d kissed that one time at that party, but that was because Freya had named their dare, and she was a pervy bitch. He _loved_ Arthur, he _did_. Just not like that. Maybe. 

But now, Merlin was telling off his half-hard cock, and trying desperately to ignore the mental vision of Arthur’s shiny red lips stretched around his dick.

*

Arthur entered the flat dressed as he always was. He didn’t look the least shifty until he saw Merlin. "Why are you still up?" he asked. "It’s two in the morning." 

Merlin eyed him over the beer bottle. "We went to Avalon tonight for the drag show," he said.

Arthur’s eyes suddenly found a point over Merlin’s right shoulder riveting. "Ah. That’s… different," he said.

"You might even say it was DEEEEEE Licious," Merlin said, mimicking the announcer’s introduction. 

Arthur licked his lips. "Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to say," he began.

"You have a bit of lipstick in the corner of your mouth," he said. Arthur reached a hand up, a very telling hand. Merlin was across the room in seconds, right up in Arthur’s personal space, reaching up with one hand to smear Dee Licious’ cherry red lippy across Arthur’s cheek. 

Arthur’s cheeks reddened and his breath hitched. "Look, Merlin," he started, but didn’t finish. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Merlin.

Merlin’s lips grazed Arthur’s earlobe as he murmured, "Yes, delicious?"

Arthur keened, then, grasping Merlin’s hip. "God, don’t do that unless you mean it," he said. 

"Do you want me, Delicious?" Merlin asked.

"Since Uni," Arthur said. 

Merlin pulled back, surprised. "You never said!"

Arthur shrugged. "Even after we kissed that time, you didn’t see me like that. _Everyone_ knows. Why do you think Freya made you kiss me?"

Merlin felt like all the air had been drawn out of his lungs. "Seriously?" he managed.

Arthur leaned in and kissed him. 

Merlin still felt stunned. Arthur’s secret…. no, both of his secrets. It was almost too much. He started to pull away.

"I don’t… Arthur."

"Stay with me, Merlin," Arthur said. "We’re still us. Unless you don’t want…."

"God, no," Merlin said. "I mean. Arthur, I never thought… you always date the _pretty_ people."

"You’re gorgeous, Merlin," Arthur said, earnestly. Then he grinned. "I’m pretty enough for two, anyway."

Merlin grinned then, and pulled Arthur to him with a hand in the blonde hair. "Prat," he said with affection.

"Now, stop having a crisis so you can suck my cock," Arthur said.

Merlin’s flagging erection gave a twitch at that. "I want your mouth on mine."

"Later. I have another use in mind for this," Arthur said, caressing Merlin’s bulge. He took Merlin’s hand and dragged him down the hall to his room, shedding clothes all the way.

* * *

**16.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin doesn’t know that I keep the secret from him.

I close the door of my chambers, taking care to latch the lock behind my back. In the candlelight, I see that he’s already made it to bed long before me. The journey back to Camelot from the far reaches of the kingdom has exhausted us both—another search for my sister without success. In the dim quiet, one slender foot pokes out from beneath the covers. It lazily hangs in the air like the dragon sparks I’ve seen him create when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I lean back against the solid wood of the door and close my eyes.

My father’s words wreath around my head like smoke from a damp wood fire. He will not tolerate sorcery and the pure evil he insists will flood the kingdom if its practitioners are not stopped. The musky scent of my chambers fills me with the first peace I’ve felt since I stood before my father for half the afternoon listening to his angry edict before the council. I take a deep breath and let the comfort of familiarity soothe me.

I exhale to push my father’s words away.

Stripping off my tunic, I sit on the bed carefully so as not to wake Merlin. My boots land silently on the stone floor. The mattress dips beneath my weight. I can’t resist sliding my hand underneath Merlin’s bare heel. His skin feels cool against my warm palm, but he doesn’t stir.

The fear of my secret blooms in my chest.

I brush my thumb across Merlin’s instep and close my eyes to shut out Merlin’s screams as the imagined flames lick at his slim feet. The villagers shout their rage, demanding a slow death for the sorcerer. Merlin’s cries etch themselves into my thoughts while the pyre blazes with the fire my father has kindled beneath him.

Before my tears can fall, I remember that I must keep my secret to ensure Merlin’s safety from Uther and his mandates.

Merlin emits a little snuffle when I give his toes a squeeze. I gently push at his foot until he draws his leg beneath the covers. I smooth my hand over the blanket, grateful for the opportunity to protect Merlin from the cold. If I had my way, I’d be strong enough in battle so Merlin never had to use his magic—he’d never have to risk being caught.

I still my movements and watch his lips curl into the smile I know so well.

Sometimes it scares me that the lips from which the ancient words spill when he shakes the earth with his power are the same lips that suckle at my cock when Merlin favours me with his attention. The voice that murmurs encouragement when I fuck him is the same voice that spews the mysterious words of dragon speech.

He doesn’t know that I’ve seen Kilgharrah.

I stand to push off my breeches and smallclothes before slipping into bed beside Merlin. The candle flame wavers with the flurry of shifting blankets. I wrap one arm around Merlin’s waist. The other finds its home beside his head where I can pet his hair. He awakens enough to touch my hand with the same clever fingers that spark lightning against my enemies. I take his wrist, just as elegant as it would be if bound by a rope to the stake that haunts my dreams. I bury my nose into his neck and shush him back to sleep. I breathe in the smooth shoulders that carry the weight of his secret, which must be as frightening to bear as my own.

I am bound to be loyal to my father.

If I commit treason by divulging my secret, the noose that cinches around my neck will cause more tears to fall from Merlin’s eyes than from my own.

* * *

**17.**

 **Pairing(s):** Percival/Other, Gwaine/himself, mention of Gwaine/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** None

"Arthur's keeping us late," Percival said. His was voice low and Gwaine could hear the urgent voices of stressed out men in suits in the background.

Gwaine bit back the pathetic whine forming on his tongue. He knew Percival loved his job and he didn't want to be _that_ boyfriend, so he told Percival to not work too hard and that he'd see him tomorrow. 

Sure, Gwaine could call friends or go to the pub alone, but he was horny, and he was trying to take this exclusivity thing seriously for once. He liked Percival. Kind of, maybe a lot.

So he got onto his favourite porn site, the one he paid a ridiculous monthly subscription to. Yes, he could easily find porn for free, but he didn't _like_ amateur porn. The point wasn't just to watch pegs inserting into holes. Good porn had production value. Angles, lighting, setting, responsiveness and chemistry between the 'actors'—these things mattered. Few people understood pornography the way Gwaine did. He didn't like to throw around the word 'aficionado', but, well, it fit. 

Percival wasn't at all alarmed by Gwaine's dildo collection, probably because Percival was bigger than all of them, but when he saw Gwaine's porn stash, he'd got a bit judgemental. So it was sort of spitefully that Gwaine logged on. Percival ditched Gwaine for work, but pornos would never forsake him. 

Gwaine was in the mood for something a little different, so he went to the archive and started searching back a few years. 

Rugby Lads? Perfect.

It started out with some stock footage of men playing rugby, before flashing to a steamy locker room with men wrapped in towels leaving the showers. The camera was low so you couldn't see their heads as they dropped towels and got dressed. Gwaine gave it a point for the voyeuristic touch. 

Then the scene focused on the two men in front. They were both extremely fit—gym fit, not rugby fit, but when it came to porn, fit was fit. The taller one dropped his towel and went over to the bench as he stroked himself. His pubes were totally dry, which made Gwaine dock a point. He didn't ask for much in the way of authenticity in his porn, but come on, did the man take a _dry_ shower? 

Once he got over the dry pubes, Gwaine gasped. 

"I _know_ that cock."

That was when the camera panned up and, sure enough, Gwaine was looking right at his boyfriend. Percival looked younger, his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking him. 

Gwaine was partly outraged because surely this was a _massive_ lie by omission, but mostly he was turned on. Percival's cock was made for porn. 

"Good match today, mate," the other bloke said. 

"You had some impressive tackles," Percival said, his voice more gravelly than his everyday speaking voice.

Other Bloke noticed Percival reclining on the bench, legs spread, cock hard. 

"Talk about impressive. Is that all for me?"

"Only if you come and get it." 

Gwaine rolled his eyes and made a mental note to mock Percival once his anger and horniness had subsided. 

He had to admit, watching another muscly lad impale himself on his boyfriend's cock was actually quite arousing. Gwaine stroked himself almost without realizing. It was a whole new way of seeing Percival. He never knew what it looked like to have Percival's hands digging into his hips or what his own asshole looked like as it swallowed Percival's—fine, it _was_ impressive—erection. 

The shot changed (another point docked for poor continuity) and Other Bloke's position was reversed. Still buried inside him, Percival stood up and bent Other Bloke over. Percival started rolling his hips obscenely, his thighs flexing with every thrust, while Other Bloke tried to hang on for the ride. 

Gwaine knew just what the man was feeling—having Percival totally in control, the beautiful sound of skin slapping hard against skin, sweat forming at the back of his neck—and he couldn't look away as he gripped his cock even tighter.

Gwaine almost went to get a dildo, but just the thought of Percival filling him up so full it sometimes made his eyes water turned out to be enough to get him off. 

After he wiped himself down, Gwaine grabbed his mobile and sent off a quick text. 

_Had to dock Rugby Lads 3 points for quality. But the top was rather 'impressive'._

* * *

**18.**

 **Pairing(s):** Freya/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** none apply

Getting back into dating isn't so bad, Gwen decides as Freya's bare breasts push against hers. Two hours ago Gwen was walking into the bar alone, telling herself it would be a good night, a step in the right direction, even if she didn't end up talking to anybody.

Fuck talking. Gwen opts for soft, wordless cries as she watches Freya's pretty, pouty mouth close over her nipple. Gwen gasps for air as her skin goes hard and shivery all over .

After fifteen months on her own her instinct now is to grab her own crotch, press against that ache for a few seconds of relief before reaching for her vibrator. Instead she goes to her knees and pushes up Freya's skirt, presses her face against Freya's damp knickers and smiles to hear Freya's answering moan. She's just hooking a finger under the elastic when Freya's phone goes off.

It's just one chirp, not an insistent ring. But Freya goes still and then, to Gwen's amazement, steps back, pushes her skirt down and goes for her purse.

For a fucking text.

"Um, I need to go."

An hour later, having masturbated to furious orgasm, sent Merlin some twenty miserable texts, and eaten the last of the chocolate cake, Gwen turns on the news.

"…Like some kind of giant cat, all black and sleek," says the blonde girl, her face a mess with dried tears and makeup. "With wings! And it saved me! That man would've killed me if it hadn't come in time!"

Gwen raises an eyebrow.

*

"You can go harder," she says as Freya curls two fingers against her labia.

Freya's been full of apologies – though not any actual explanations – since Gwen tracked her down again. Unsure of how to deal with an obviously touchy subject, Gwen said she'd accept sexual favors as penance.

"Or sharper, if you want. Use your nails, I don't mind."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm pretty tough," Gwen says cheerfully, thrusting into Freya's hand. She knows better than to bring up _the last girl I dated_ while they're both naked, but damn if it isn't tempting.

"There's so much you don't know about me," Freya whispers. Her hand goes annoyingly slack.

 _Oh, go angst on a rooftop why don't you,_ Gwen doesn't say, pulling Freya down for a kiss instead. "That's good, I like surprises."

*

"No fucking way," says Merlin.

"You wouldn't _actually_ have to attack me. Just kind of –"

"I know, threaten, I get it. Look, strange as it may seem to you, I'm not willing to risk getting torn to shreds by a flying cat monster just so you can move your relationship forward with a satisfying dramatic reveal."

"But my sunny disposition and not-so-subtle hints are getting us nowhere! Her getting to save me would be _so perfect_ , don't you see?"

"Not gonna happen, Gwen. Maybe you should ask Morgana."

"That's not funny."

Her tone is sharp enough that he looks mildly repentant, but she knows he's mostly right. Her sunny disposition's been pretty useless so far, but that doesn't mean dramatics are the answer.

*

"So," Gwen says, after a deep breath but before they start taking their clothes off this time, "the last girl I dated was Morgana le Fay."

"Oh."

"We were together for three years."

Freya's eyes are wide, her words slow. "So you knew her before –"

"Yes. She told me about her powers. And it was… there were definitely some things I could have handled better. Who knows, maybe if I had she wouldn't have been quite so quick to go down the path that she did. The point is, I've been through some pretty extreme stuff, and I don't shy away from that. I'd probably still be with her it weren't for, you know..."

"The villainy?"

Gwen nods, sets her hands gently at Freya's hips. "The super part I was fine with! When I thought she was gonna be a hero I was all ready to be her sidekick. I honestly think I'd rock."

Freya shakes her head. "I could never put you in that kind of danger. You're so sweet and –"

"Not to burst your bubble, but I'm a queer black woman and, well, you know what kind of city we live in. I can figure out for myself when something's too dangerous and when it's worth it."

She leans in for a kiss and it's long, quiet, full.

"Be worth my while, Freya. Be my hero."

* * *

**19.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Athur  
 **Warning(s):** Gore, OC death,

Arthur wakes to delicious heat.

Merlin's watching him. His lips slip off with a pop when Arthur looks down.

"I love the taste of you,"

Arthur groans, and lets his head fall back again, following Merlin with his eyes as he crawls up, over Arthur's body to bring their lips together.

Arthur needs friction, but Merlin skilfully evades his every effort. Arthur can feel the playful grin against his lips.

Arthur growls and grabs his skinny arse, pulling and anchoring him flush against the length of his body.

A finger passes between Arthur's cheeks and he stills, letting his legs fall open, eyes falling shut.  
The finger slips in, and Arthur tilts his hips up, breathing uneven.

"I love to make you squirm,"

Another finger joins the first, and Merlin slides them in and out, teasing, until Arthur's twitching underneath him.

" _Please_ ,"

The fingers crook, and then disappear, and Arthur is left dizzy with want. He opens his eyes and Merlin's sitting stroking himself, spreading lube over his cock and staring with blown eyes.

Arthur grabs him and pulls him down. Merlin lines up, and slowly sinks in.

The strokes are long and deep, taking Arthur's breath away with an "ah, ah, ah,".

"I love the sounds you make under me."

Arthur shifts his hips, Merlin's movements become faster and harder, and then Arthur's tumbling from a precipice, his eyes screwed tight.

-

Merlin's fingers brush lazily over muscles, eyes wide, and Arthur's heart gives a painful, happy squeeze. He closes his eyes and lets himself float.

Merlin is an artist. His mind works in unbelievable ways, imagining complex and meaningful shapes in great detail, and then bringing them to fruition. He lives with an intensity Arthur can't begin to understand. Arthur can't quite believe how lucky he is that Merlin's _his_.

Arthur gasps and his eyes fly open when his nipple is tweaked.

Merlin grins a wicked, almost predatory grin that makes Arthur's breath hitch.

"You puzzle me."

"You never fathomed me out?"

"No."

Merlin's face softens for some reason, and Arthur has to kiss him.

-

Arthur barely has time to grab breakfast on the way out, pulling on his uniform trousers and spilling coffee over an anatomy book of Merlin’s left carelessly on the kitchen counter.

He arrives at the station only five minutes late, but Gwaine is waiting with the autopsy report on the latest body in the case he's been investigating.

He steels himself, reminding himself he has Merlin's art show to look forward to tonight.

It's a gruesome read.

They had found the body hanging, strung up like a puppet down an alley.

Arthur tries to discern something new, but come up blank.

All the victims are dissected, albeit superficially. The killer doesn't know precisely what he's doing, but he's getting better.

Most of the victims had organs missing. Organs which, worryingly, always seemed to be edible, as Gwaine had pointed out.

And most confusingly, the hands are always missing, sliced off at the wrists.

Arthur sighs and buries his face in his hands.

-

Arthur supposes he's lucky to have Gwaine to distract him over lunch.

He supposes.

He still finds himself tuning out the inane chatter though. Gwaine's going on about a new girlfriend, some uncharacteristic sappy nonsense about twin souls.

"Merlin says the tragedy of life is that to souls can never truly touch, only signal vainly through the puppets that are our bodies. It's the subject of his next art show." Arthur says, because it's about the only thing he can think of to say.

"That's tonight then?"

"Yeah,"

"I might pop in, see what he's been up to these last few months" Gwaine says with a grin, and he's not jealous, but Arthur's heart drops a little at that.

-

He arrives at the show and grabs a glass of champagne at the door.

Merlin's work grabs his attention as soon as he enters the room, because that's what Merlin's art _does_.

A huge pair of ivory angel's wings, beautifully detailed, curving out away from the wall almost lovingly.

They draw him across the room.

Standing under the arc of the wings, they don't look as soft and welcoming.

Arthur had to reach out and touch the structure under the feathery fabric covering the wings,

It's made out of human finger bones.

* * *

**20.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** minor (but above age of consent), student/teacher

To an outsider it would seem like a big, fucking cliche, Merlin thought as he stripped and got into the shower. Not the gay thing, or the virginity, but the fact that Arthur was the athletics coach. People would say he was a pervert. That he got into the profession to ogle at boys in flimsy track shorts. That he lured a different boy into the shower every year. That wasn't Arthur.

Arthur, with his morals and his chivalry. Not yet thirty and already a lost career in the military after he lost hearing in one ear in an attack. 

Arthur was broody. A sadness clung to him. Merlin suspected the betrayal of his sister, Morgana, had hurt him deeply. 

That is why _this_ couldn't be wrong. Not when Merlin was the one to put a smile on Arthur's face.

A smile was exactly what he got when Arthur joined him in the shower and Merlin welcomed him with a long, hungry kiss. He switched on the tap of the shower, hot water cascading on and around them. Merlin watched rivulets of water dripping from Arthur's beautiful body. He couldn't help himself; he had to touch the man everywhere he could. 

"Missed me?" Arthur asked, looking at him intently. Merlin halted his movements, cock perking up in attention as he saw that Arthur knelt down in front of him. 

"Yes, yes, yes." Merlin muttered. 

Arthur laughed, yet in his eyes Merlin could still see that tinge of sadness, and something worse; guilt. 

"Stop looking at me as if I'm some kind of illigal drug."

"That is exactly what you are," Arthur said, still looking up at Merlin starting to stroke Merlin's cock. It was embarrassingly hard already. "Sinful and oh so addictive," Arthur continued, before he took Merlin all the way into his mouth. 

Not allowing Merlin to come, Arthur pulled off in time. Merlin knew what was coming next. But when Arthur wanted to turn him around, Merlin stopped him. "I want to see your face," he said. He wanted it to be different this time. He wanted to watch Arthur's pleasure, wanted Arthur to see how much Merlin wanted him.

After a second of hesitation, Arthur nodded and they moved to find a better position. 

Arthur always entered him slowly, giving Merlin ample time to adjust. Even now Merlin wasn't a virgin anymore, Arthur still seemed to expect him to break. Merlin enjoyed the sensation of being filled inch by inch, but he quickly craved more friction once Arthur was fully inside of him. When Arthur still moved agonizingly slow, he let out a loud groan in protest.

Arthur's hand covered his mouth in an instant. "Shh! Do you want to janitor to hear?" 

Merlin thought of Gaius, the nearly-retired janitor, walking in on them like this and he let out a hysteric giggle the moment Arthur's hand was gone. Arthur glared. 

"I can't help it, you massive tease. Move!" Merlin huffed.

"You dare address your teacher like that?" But there was laughter in his voice. Arthur did comply, setting a steady pace that filled Merlin to the brim with pleasure. 

This time, Merlin could watch when Arthur came. His expression was pure and unguarded. It was all it took to get Merlin over the edge himself.

In an affair like this there was much to fear. They weren't legal, Merlin couldn't stand to think of the consequences if they were ever discovered. They weren't even safe, something they had quietly ignored since that wild, frenzy of their first time, when condoms had been the last thing on their minds. But what he feared most was that maybe it wasn't even real. That it would be over before they ever really got started.

But when they got out of the shower, Arthur kissed him tenderly, towelling Merlin dry. It felt intimate and perfect. As if they had all the time in the world. This couldn't _not_ be real.

* * *

**21.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Gwen/Morgana/Lancelot/Leon, Gwaine/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** NA

"Welcome to the medieval Camelot exhibition. As we walk through the remains of the castle, you'll be learning the truth behind some of history's biggest names. Please remain with the group and note that flash photography is prohibited.

Our first stop is the throne room. Here you would find King Arthur surrounded by his greatest advisors, including the wizard Merlin, the wise old man who raised Arthur from infancy. Here they discussed everything from grain production to battle tactics against the wicked Morgan.

***

Merlin trips over the hem of his robe and crashes hard onto the throne behind him.

"That'll leave a bruise."

"I'll give you a bruise."

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a promise."

"Both," Arthur replies before he reattaches himself to Merlin's neck.

"You're eager today," Merlin chuckles.

Arthur gives no response except to shuck his trousers, lift Merlin's robes, and climb onto his lap.  
"Are you sure you're rea-," the rest of Merlin's words are drowned out in a moan as Arthur lowers himself onto Merlin's cock.

"Fingered myself during the council meeting. Couldn't wait to see you fall apart under me."

Merlin whines and grabs at Arthur's arse, digging his nails into the skin. Arthur increases the tempo and the throne shakes beneath them.

"You're so beautiful like this."

Merlin's eyes flash gold and comes with a full body shudder. Arthur drinks the sight in and lets his own release land on Merlin's robes. He leans back to admire his work; Merlin with his chest heaving, naked from the waist down, sweat dripping down his temples. He pulls off with a groan and extends a hand to Merlin.

"A cleaning spell, if you please."

***

Follow me up the stairs and we'll come to Queen Guinevere's chambers. Guinevere was the daughter of King Leodegrance, and was trained in the ways of court since birth. After one too many abductions by Morgan, King Arthur assigned his most trusted knights, Sir Lancelot and Sir Leon, to protect her at all times.

***

Gwen can't help the moan that falls from her lips. Beside her, Morgana presses her mouth gently to Gwen's nipple. Between her legs, Lancelot mouths up and down her slit, circling her nub and flicking his tongue over it with steady strokes. Behind him, Leon thrusts into him slowly, his hips moving in lazy circles as if he's in no hurry to finish. 

As Lancelot brings her over the edge, Morgana opens her mouth and receives Gwen's sloppy kisses, more tongue than technique, and strokes a hand through her hair as she comes down off her high. There's some shuffling and Gwen finds herself on the bottom of the pile, Morgana's cunt above her face, Leon pushing at Gwen's entrance, Lancelot fondling Morgana's breasts. As Gwen takes her first taste of Morgana that evening, she reflects on how glad she is they finally sorted themselves out.

***

Please mind the step as we make our way to the knight's training field. The true mark of a knight was staying chaste and virtuous until they earned the favour of their maiden.

***

Percival bends Gwaine over the bench and lines up carefully. Gwaine, never one for patience, ruts back against him, throwing him off balance. He overbalances forward to save himself, driving into Gwaine hard. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Gwaine turns his head to face him and gives him a cheeky grin. "It's going to take a lot more than that to hurt me love. Now move."

***

Our last stop on today's tour is the great hall. This was where all manner of banquets and festivities were held, including the wedding of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. We hope you've enjoyed yourselves today and learnt a little about the truth of the of the past. Don't forget to stop by Ye Olde Gift Shoppe on the way out.

***

The peasants flow out onto the street in massive hoards, all waving banners or throwing petals. At the altar, Geoffrey waits for the king and the court sorcerer to join him, Merlin having flat out refused to walk down the aisle. Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, and Leon stand together in the front row wearing matching colours. Percival and Gwaine stand behind them, leaning against each other. When the happy couple finally make an appearance, they both look a little dishevelled. Whatever their appearance, it certainly doesn't stop the crowd from giving a great cheer when the handfasting is complete.

* * *

**22.**

**Pairing(s): Gwaine/Percival**   
**Warning(s): voyeurism**

Gwaine couldn’t sleep. The sun had set hours ago, but Gwaine just couldn't keep his eyes closed. He lay there, contemplating sneaking to the kitchens for a snack, when he heard yet another growl from his abdomen. Deciding that enough was enough, he climbed out of bed and padded across his chambers and through the door, only to discover he wasn't the only one awake. Up the hall, he saw Percival exit his chambers, glance quickly around him, and continue to the stairwell. Gwaine, simply out of curiosity, wanted to see what Percival was up to, and decided to remain unseen for the time being. 

And together they went, Percival on his tip-toes and Gwaine ducking into corners whenever Percival paused. They reached the kitchen, and although it was only dimly illuminated by a single torch, Percival seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He quickly strode across the room to the cabinet on the far wall. From Gwaine’s vantage point – peeking around a corner – he could see Percival digging around for something, but couldn’t work out what. That is, until Percival pulled out a jar of syrup with an air of triumph. He went back to the countertop, and lightly hopped up so that he was perched on the edge with his back to Gwaine. He unscrewed the lid of the syrup, placed it on the counter next to him, and reached in front of him. Gwaine couldn't make out what Percival was doing, all he could hear was the rustling of fabric. He started as Percival let out a low moan and hurriedly dipped his fingers into the jar. By this point, Gwaine worked out what exactly was happening and couldn’t help the stirring feeling in his groin. If he was going to reveal himself, his lust-addled brain decided that now was the time to do it. 

"Perce?" Gwaine stepped out of the shadows. Percival whipped around, staring at him with eyes wide open and guilt plastered across every line of his face. Gwaine hummed and stepped closer. 

"What have you got there?" he beckoned to the syrup that Percival was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide. Which was utterly ridiculous of course in wake of the fact that his cock was at full mast, as if on display. Percival’s eyes were looking anywhere but Gwaine, his jaw slack and trying to form words that weren’t coming. Gwaine smirked, and slowly came forward until he was in front of Percival. He picked up the syrup jar, "Hm. Raspberry. My favorite." He dropped to his knees, all the while feeling Percival’s intense gaze on him. Scooping some syrup onto his fingers, he took Percival’s cock in hand and slathered the syrup up and down, making sure to cover every inch. The aroma of the syrup mixed with Percival’s musky scent was intoxicating, so much that he almost became dizzy. He leant down and proceeded to lick from the base to the tip, hearing a sharp gasp when he reached the head. He did so again and again until there wasn’t any syrup left, feeling Percival’s thighs clenching and unclenching beneath his hands. 

"Please – you’re killing me here Gwaine, I need to -" Percival panted. Instead of complying, Gwaine abruptly stood up and undid his breeches, only stopping to yank Percival off the counter and roughly turn him around. Throwing all caution and good sense into the wind, he reached into the syrup jar and spread the gooey substance over his own leaking cock. He found Percival’s hole and jutted one finger in. 

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Only on – myself – do it already" Percival said, his voice trembling. 

Gwaine tried a second finger, and, not hearing any protests, a third. He saw Percival’s shoulders tense up beneath the thin fabric of his night shirt. 

Noticing Gwaine’s hesitation, Percival gave a frustrated sigh that was really more of a gasp and said, "I’m serious Gwaine, if you don’t—" he was cut off by Gwaine shoving into him. A yell turned into a moan, saying Gwaine’s name as he was pounded into relentlessly. Gwaine reached around Percival’s muscular frame to grasp his cock, pulling him until he finally released. Gwaine lasted two, maybe three more thrusts until he too shuddered to a still.

He and Percival stood like that for a few more seconds, afraid to disturb the peace, until Gwaine with a shaky laugh said, "Syrup, huh?"

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**23.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Threesomes, clones  & DP (oh my!) 

** One For the Money, Two For the Show **

"So you know how I was explaining last week about the advances we were making with the cell-reduplication process, and how we’ve gotten them to successfully regenerate?" Arthur said while Merlin tried unsuccessfully to pull his jaw off the floor. 

"Y-you," Merlin stuttered. 

"Yeah, me. I mean, I wasn’t going to test it on anyone else." He at least had the good grace to sound a little sheepish. "Surprise," he said, and wiggled his fingers. 

"Arthur…" Merlin said weakly, "I’m not going to pretend I know anything about microbiology, but I think that’s a bit more than a successful regeneration of cells." 

"I can see why we like him, he’s quite bright isn’t he?" said Clone Arthur.  
Merlin needed to sit down for a moment. 

*

"I didn’t mean to shock you like that," said Arthur a few minutes later when Merlin had had a glass of water and a little more time to digest that fact that his boyfriend had managed to clone himself. 

"No, it was only a matter of time before your ego manifested in a physical form. I probably should have seen it coming." Arthur gave him a good nudge in the ribs and Merlin nudged back, and from there things devolved into a tickle fight rather rapidly for two grown men both with PhD’s. 

The clone in question was adjusting his lab coat the same way Arthur did when he was nervous or uncomfortable, tugging the sleeves down over his fingertips and rearranging the pens in his front pocket. When Merlin looked a little closer he noticed they hand the same laughter lines around their eyes, the same crooked tooth. It was uncanny. It begged for further investigation. 

"So wait- you guys are completely identical?" 

*

The lab coats plural were the last items in a trail of clothing that began near the workbench where Merlin had sprawled out to test for the betterment of mankind if Arthur Penn was a better kisser than his doppelganger and ended in a heap under the fume hood. 

A complete set of data was needed, of course, which meant Merlin needed Arthur on one side, teasing slick, wet kisses across the corner of Merlin’s mouth and up the crook of his jaw, alternating the barest scrape of his teeth with the stroke of his fingers up Merlin’s thigh, while Clone Arthur lay with a hand wide across Merlin’s throat and his mouth busy tracing a matching constellation of bruises. 

"Here, like this," Arthur had said, guiding clone Arthur’s hand to spread low and hot against Merlin’s stomach while he tugged Merlin’s shirt off over his head. Merlin lay dazed as two identical pairs of hands worked his body in one long, unending tease.

In no time at all he was hard and panting, spoiled for choice as to where he should place his hands now that both Arthurs had stripped to their (identical) shorts and the amount of skin on display was overwhelming. 

" _Arthur_ ," he whined, and one of them with his fingers in Merlin’s waistband said, "tell us what you want," his lips a breath from Merlin’s own. 

"Everything," Merlin groaned. "Both of you."

"Greedy,"panted Clone Arthur, "is he always this easy for you?"  
"You have no idea. Practically begging me to suck my cock. He fucking loves it." 

Arthur punctuated this with a rough palm to where Merlin was already hard and leaking. It made him cry out, his voiced echoing oddly in the empty lab. 

"I don’t suppose you have a bed here?" 

"He has a couch I can blow you on," Merlin offered helpfully, and spread his thighs a little wider. 

"Sold."

*  
The couch in Arthur’s office wasn’t comfortable per se, but what it lacked in appeal it made up for by being wide enough to fit three people and behind locked doors.

"Harder, he likes it a little rougher than that," Arthur said watching his double fuck Merlin’s mouth with a fist clenched in his hair. Merlin made a whimpering sound and felt his eyes flutter shut when Clone Arthur hit the back of his throat. He moaned in pleasure, god, he really did love this, and the vibration made Clone Arthur swear and buck his hips up again. 

"God, you’re so easy for me," Arthur said from where he was pressed all along   
Merlin’s back, "with the two of us you’re just fuckin filthy." 

The finger he’d been using to tease Merlin’s the rim of hole with pushed inside followed quickly by a second. His cry was choked off by Clone Arthur thrusting into his mouth and Merlin pushed back into it, Arthur in front, behind, inside of him, and everything was golden.

* * *

**24.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** None

"The crystals never lie." 

That was the first thing Morgause had taught Morgana about scrying. 

"Only the strongest and most dedicated sorceress may hope to command the crystals, and they are wayward in what they will show, and when. The visions may be misleading or confusing, and past, present, or future can be hard to tell apart. But everything you see will be the truth."

That, of course, had been a lie. 

Probably even a deliberate lie, Morgana had realized later. A lie told so that she would never doubt her sister's plans, backed up as they were by the crystals' shimmering visions. Still, it was possible that Morgause hadn't known any better. Perhaps Morgana was the only high priestess powerful enough to turn the crystals into windows to conjecture and make-believe. 

Late one evening she looked into the depths of the magnificent many-edged crystal her sister had left behind. 

"Show me the heart of Camelot!" 

The translucent stone immediately came alive for her, radiating light. A vision of crimson, ivory and gold appeared.

Morgana's eyes went wide.

The royal bedchamber was filled with the soft golden glow of many candles. The dusky-red bed-hangings had been drawn against the night. And on the sheets of the grand royal bed....

Merlin was naked, reclining against Gwen's shoulder and squeezing one of her hands. His pale splayed limbs looked agile and lithe; far from his usual gangly clumsiness. But Arthur, stretched out next to Merlin, looked exactly the way Morgana remembered him. Well-proportioned, handsome, bold and sure - the golden usurper king of Camelot. 

Morgana sneered as she took it all in: The trio's flushed skin, Gwen's dark curls trailing down to her exposed breast and across Merlin's shoulder, Arthur's strong hand wrapped around Merlin's stiff cock. 

Gwen was wriggling her toes and laughing as Merlin squeezed her hand in time with Arthur' steady pulls on his dick. Arthur was focused on the task at hand, ever the swordsman with a good grip on the handle. Merlin seemed increasingly tense, and then he arched up, lips parting to release gasps and cries that rang loudly in Morgana's ears, although the crystal vision did not carry sound.

Arthur's hand stilled. Both he and Gwen leaned in to watch Merlin's climax, the spurts of pearly seed that stained the crimson sheets and coated his taut abdomen. 

Merlin's chest had not yet stopped heaving when he opened his eyes and looked into Arthur's. Their feelings for each other were as plain to read on their faces as text in a chronicler's book would have been. 

Merlin grinned and said something, stretching his long legs. He turned to place a small tender kiss at the curve of Gwen's full breast. 

Arthur got up on his knees, displaying an eager erection. He leaned in to catch Gwen's lips with his own. Merlin remained where he was, merely looking up at his king and queen. Their kiss deepened and turned ravenous above him, and he watched them embracing. 

Merlin's fond smile was bright and completely unguarded. Morgana had never seen him looking so happy and carefree. 

The sensuality of the scene, the passion and mutual trust radiated from the crystal and stabbed at Morgana. It hurt. With a shout and a convulsive gesture of denial she broke the connection to the infuriating vision. 

Those three had light and love, shared joy and laughter. She had nothing. She had no-one, except a cruelly crippled dragon and a few frightened minions, cowering in the shadows in fear of her rage. 

She was alone.

And even she could not tell if the crystal had truly revealed the intimate secret at the core of Camelot's prosperity and happiness, or if it had shown her one of the lies she sometimes craved; deceit fit to torment her own cold heart and to bolster her hatred and resentment.

Morgana had realized her error too late. Once she'd ordered the crystal to bend a vision of reality to fit her desires, after that first time when she'd made it lie to her, there was no way to ever tell its truths from its deceptions.

Now she was permanently in the dark.

She remained on her stone throne through the night, brimming with sleepless ire, brooding in the murk of her silent hall.

* * *

**25.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Elena  
 **Warning(s):** brief dub-con (one line in particular could be triggery)

It takes Gwaine a full 4 weeks to figure it out, and by the time he does, it's too late. He's already half in love with her.

She'd (literally) stumbled into Pendragon International with a sob story and a tube of bright purple lipstick, and her hair falling in her eyes. She'd said her name was Elizabeth. Arthur had trusted her immediately, and Gwaine had--well, he'd liked her, he had, but he'd figured out that her clumsiness was an act, and then he'd liked her all the better. 

She's a con artist, and a great one, and Gwaine figures that out soon enough. He's watched her convince mail boys to do her bidding, and she can turn on the charm like it's nobody's business. But the thing is. She doesn't seem to be conning anyone at Pendragon. And well, Gwaine is a let-and-let-live sort of fellow. He got his job as Head of Security because of his shady past and all the knowledge that came with it, after all. So, she may be a con, but until she actually tries to con someone at this company, Gwaine isn't going to report her.

Besides. He spends half of the time when he's in a room with her fantasizing about going down on his knees in front of everyone and putting his head under her skirt and licking her until she screams. It’s a little distracting

*

But then a week later he's balls-deep inside her, his mouth on her collarbone, and for some stupid reason, that's when everything comes together for him. She doesn't want to steal from Arthur. She wants to steal from _Uther_ , when he shows up for the State of the Company speeches on Monday. This…does not bother Gwaine.

Actually, it makes him rather happy, seeing as there is no con-related reason at all for "Elizabeth" to be having sex with him right now. She just wants to.

"What are you grinning for?" she pants between thrusts, and throws her legs around his waist.

He doesn't want to scare her, and that's probably nothing scarier than a man twice your size whispering, "I know you're a thieving liar," while literally inside you, but here's the thing: he wants to know her. And he wants her to know that he knows.

"Tell me your name," he says.

She does tense up, mostly directly around his cock, which, _christ_. Her fingers, which had been tracing the cleft of his ass, drift down until they touch his balls. It's a warning and an insurance policy, and he appreciates her willingness to fight dirty, even as he’s rushing to say,

"No, listen, it’s all right. I know you’re after Uther. His personal accounts?" He lowers his head and ghosts a kiss across her lips. "I don't care, honestly I don't. He's a prick, and he deserves it, and that lift you made in Arthur’s office the other day was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Just...tell me your name."

She narrows her eyes at him, and they’re both still, and Gwaine starts to wonder whether he ought to roll off of her so that they can have an adult conversation, when she starts rolling her hips again. 

"Sexiest thing you ever seen?" There’s a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth, and Gwaine grins when he leans down to kiss it.

And then they’re off, again, fucking in long, athletic thrusts of their bodies, her pussy squeezing wetly around him and her fingers digging into his arse.

"Tell me your name. I want to say it when I come," he says into her ear, and she makes a sound that’s half groan, half laugh.

She traces a finger down his cleft and presses against his hole, and Gwaine stutters in his pace. "It’s Elena," she says.

"Elena," he repeats, and then sucks in a breath as she wriggles a finger in, not far but enough that Gwaine can feel it as she pulls and plays with the rim. "Oh, god."

"That’s right," she says, grinning, and Gwaine finds himself moaning _ElenaElenaElena_ into her mouth as he comes.

* * *

**26.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** n/a 

Arthur's so quiet in bed. So quiet and controlled. It's not that he isn't interested or enthusiastic -- he's certainly happy enough to pull Merlin onto the bed nearly every afternoon after training, eager and half-hard by the time he gets his breeches off -- but he's just so...

_Quiet_ , Merlin thinks, rocking his hips into the cradle of Arthur's lap. They're both flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, the late afternoon sun painting gold stripes over their skin through the bed curtains. Merlin gasps when Arthur cants his hips, pressing a hand to Arthur's chest to take Arthur in deeper. He's been muttering ridiculous endearments and encouragements to Arthur, not able to stop himself, not when Arthur's so warm and close to him and not when he knows the afternoon will wane too quickly into an evening when he has to give Arthur up to the court. 

Arthur runs his hands up and down Merlin's sides, settling at his hips to hold Merlin tight and close. His jaw clenches and he gasps, the sound as tight and close as the space between them, and comes with such a look of desperate relief on his face that Merlin practically cries out for him. 

He'll find it, Merlin decides later as he dozes next to Arthur, he'll find whatever it is that'll make Arthur cry out for him. 

-

The mission proves more difficult than Merlin anticipated. 

Snitching Arthur's keys in the hopes of finding a secret stash of illicit manuscripts only results in the discovery of a random sheaf of old parchment that includes: a few letters, some early attempts at speech writing, and a few scraps of what could possibly be pornographic writing but in Latin. The only people Merlin can think to ask to translate are Gaius (no), Geoffrey (NO), and maybe Morgana (oh god no). 

Asking Arthur if he wants to try something new in bed earns him a curious nod and an expectant smile. Eventually, he has to invent some new idea on the spot and he ends up fucking Arthur over the prince's map-covered desk. 

Maps are not Arthur's kink, though he does seem to enjoy the sound of Merlin scrabbling to avoid coming all over them. Further experiments prove that he does not like being tickled (the feathers make him sneeze) or being tied up (or, disappointingly, tying Merlin up). 

In the end, Merlin wonders if being as quiet as possible in bed is Arthur's secret kink. 

\- 

Which is fine, Merlin finds himself thinking on another warm afternoon as he strokes Arthur's sweat damp chest. 

Arthur likes a lot of other things in bed -- he likes being here, in Merlin's tiny bedroom, where it's cool and quiet; he likes pressing Merlin down into the pillows, kissing him roughly and biting his way to Merlin's stomach while Merlin squirms beneath him; he likes waking Merlin up before sunrise to suck him off and leave him with a warm, sated feeling for the rest of the day; he likes the way Merlin slides his cock between his thighs, skin slick with oil, and teases him until he's shivering with want. 

Merlin gathers thought upon thought, memory upon memory, and feels his cock press hard and hot to Arthur's thigh as he does so. His fingers wander past Arthur's chest to his groin, where Merlin palms his erection. 

"You're quiet today," Arthur says, voice low and deep with desire, and he shifts beneath Merlin's touch. There's a needy little expression on his face, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips just before he gives Merlin that expectant look once more. 

"Oh," Merlin says, and then smiles. "I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how you look right now, and how you look spread out on your own bed, and how you'll always be my prince no matter what happens..." 

Arthur gasps, sudden and sharp, and his body arches towards Merlin on the narrow bed. It doesn't matter what Merlin says next, because it's all a tumble of words and sighs and laughter as Arthur comes over his hand.

* * *

**27.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Arthur wakes to the feeling of someone laying warm and heavy on his chest. Merlin had fallen asleep, his breath puffing hot on Arthur's neck.

The skin of Merlin's back is smooth against Arthur's palms, but he doesn't open his eyes yet.

The sun would be shining on Merlin's skin, making it glow in the morning light. Arthur's fingers brush up to Merlin's neck, kneading a little before tangling in his soft hair.

Merlin makes a kittenish noise in his sleep and Arthur smiles, playing with the silky strands.

He falls back asleep.

\---

The sun shines warm and hot on the glistening waters of the beach. They're playing in the waves, naked bodies glinting in the sun, not another person to be seen.

Arthur grabs Merlin by the waist with a shout and throws him deeper into the water. Merlin comes up, sputtering and pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

He narrows his eyes at Arthur before rushing at him, hollering all the way. Arthur takes a step back just as Merlin slams into him, forcing them both down beneath the waves. 

For a moment he doesn't know which way is up, and then he crashes into the hard sandy bottom. Merlin lands on top of him, and somehow, with eyes clenched tightly shut, their lips meet.

Arthur rests his hand on Merlin's back as bitter water seeps into his mouth. He can't resist opening his eyes to the murk and stinging water, Merlin ethereal and ringed in sunlight above him.

Arthur almost forgets to come up for air.

They break the surface, gasping. Arthur's lungs burn pleasantly and he grins. Pulling Merlin in tight, he kisses him deeper, their lips slipping wetly.

Merlin presses against him, hums into his mouth, and wrenches Arthur off balance into the water again.

When Arthur comes up, he spits out water and glares.

Laughing, Merlin struggles through the waves to the shore as Arthur gives chase. 

Merlin has a headstart, and makes it out of the lake easily, before darting to the treeline and out of sight.

Disgruntled, Arthur sits in the sand. Merlin always comes back.

\---

Arthur has walked the entire length of the beach before. It's best at night when the light of the moon makes the sand a shocking white against the cold black of the water. Sometimes he passes the same rock three times before he meets his old footprints in the sand.

It's funny, he thinks. The water comes in, and goes out, but there's no tide.

It's hard to sleep when Merlin's not with him, so Arthur walks the beach instead.

\---

Merlin pounces on him in the shade of a tree, tackling him to the spongy ground.

Arthur can't help but laugh, but it's cut off as Merlin gropes at the front of his trousers. Arthur hisses, closes his eyes. Even through the fabric, Merlin's touch is always as it has been.

"Shhh," Merlin says, and Arthur pants into the air as Merlin pushes him to lay back on the ground.

He pulls Arthur's trousers off carefully, leg by leg, before laying small, dry kisses down Arthur's stomach, inching towards his cock.

Arthur whimpers and Merlin shushes him again before taking the head of Arthur's cock into his mouth. He sucks, gentle, tapping his tongue against the underside of the head as Arthur's hips twitch.

Merlin's mouth is soft and wet on him, the tiny flicks of his tongue make the knot in Arthur's stomach wind tighter and tighter.

He chokes as Merlin swallows him down, throat spasming around Arthur's cock.

Arthur reaches down to caress Merlin's ear, smoothing his thumb around the rim. He moans as Merlin swallows around him again.

Hand gentle at the back of Merlin's head, Arthur fucks up into his mouth, slipping all the way in. Merlin's eyes burn into his, the color high and bright on his cheeks. His eyes are watering and his mouth is dribbling slick saliva all over Arthur's cock.

The deep, hot suck is too much for Arthur, and he comes as he feels his cock touch the back of Merlin's throat, his eyes clenched tightly shut through his orgasm.

He loses himself, shuddering, hands weak and shaky.

Opening his eyes, he sees the sticky mess on his hands, smeared against his thighs and stomach.

Arthur's hollow laughter echoes back from the deserted trees, mocking him.

The patch of grass in front of him is empty.

* * *

**28.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dom/sub undertones, slight voyeurism? 

"Ah, there you are, Merlin."

Merlin spun around in his desk chair just as Arthur entered the room. He shut the door behind him, striding towards Merlin with a gleam in his eyes that made Merlin’s stomach tighten in anticipation. 

"Sir?" he said, straightening his back instinctively. 

"Do you know why I’m here, Merlin?" Arthur leaned forward and put his hands on the armrests on either side of Merlin, effectively trapping him in his chair. 

"Um. Do you mean here in a vague existential sense, or as in my personal quarters?"

Arthur looked like he was fighting back a smile. 

"The Captain has informed me that you have a certain problem paying attention during the weekly staff meetings, and requested that I discipline you appropriately. Do you have anything to say in your defense?" 

Merlin thought that he ought to stick up for himself, but his cock, which had noticed Arthur and the intoxicating proximity of him, gave him other ideas.

"No, sir," he croaked. 

"Hmm. You know, I was planning on spanking you again- a schoolboy’s punishment for a schoolboy level infraction-"

Merlin’s cock hardens as he remembers how he’d squirmed and whimpered on Arthur’s lap, his pants around his ankles, while Arthur reddened his arse with the palm of his hand until Merlin cried that he was sorry, he’d learned his lesson, he’d be a good boy from then on. Arthur had then wiped away his tears and bent him over a desk, soothing Merlin’s skin with his tongue and fucking him with it. 

"-but I’m not convinced that it’s doing you any good where your behavior is concerned. Perhaps we can try an exercise to help you develop your concentration skills instead," Arthur said, smirking slightly. 

He palmed Merlin through his pants. 

"Yeah, great plan. I agree completely. Let’s do that," Merlin replied breathlessly. 

Arthur sank to his knees. He unfastened Merlin’s pants, pulled his cock out and took the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. 

He gave head like a pro, using his mouth and hands in ways that soon turned Merlin into a moaning, shuddering mess as he tugged lightly on the ends of Arthur’s blonde hair and struggled to resist the urge to thrust. 

He was close to coming, so close to the edge, when the unthinkable happened- the bells of an incoming call rang out in the room. 

Arthur pulled off of Merlin immediately. Merlin whimpered, his body tingling with the aftereffects of his almost orgasm. 

"Answer the call," Arthur said, wiping at the spit on his chin. 

"Arthur-"

"Focus, Merlin," Arthur teased, and Merlin could’ve kicked the smug bastard. "Answer the call." 

Merlin took a deep breath and complied, though he wished he hadn’t when the Captain’s stern face popped up on the screen. Talk about a mood killer. 

"Sir!" Merlin cried, trying for casual and failing completely. 

"Mr. Emrys. Has my son been over to have a word with you yet?" 

"Um, yeah. Kind of. We’re working on it," Merlin replied. And then he yelped, because Arthur did something with his hand to Merlin’s cock that Merlin felt all the way to his toes. 

"Good. Emrys, you would do well to listen to him. You may be the best pilot out there, but don’t think for a second that I won’t fire you if these problems continue-"

Arthur enveloped Merlin in the wet heat of his mouth again, and fuck, Merlin had to end the call before he came all over him while he was on the phone with his fucking father, of all people. 

"I understand completely, sir. Thank you. Sorry, but I have to hang up now. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t terribly important. Goodbye!"

Merlin closed the screen of his monitor on the Captain’s startled face, and then Arthur stroked one hand up Merlin’s length and teased at Merlin’s entrance with another, and Merlin was coming down Arthur’s throat while Arthur swallowed him down. 

"I’m not entirely sure we’ve fixed your problem with focusing," Arthur said later, when they’d both recovered. "Would you like me to arrange more exercises?" 

Merlin agreed without hesitation.

* * *

**29.**

 **Pairing:** Morgana/Gwaine  
 **Warning:** Age Difference (both adults)

She was the only secret he was ever able to keep.

That was a feat of love in and of itself because Gwaine liked to brag about everything. He bragged about his luscious wavy locks of brown hair. He bragged about what he ate for breakfast. He even bragged about how hard he fell into the sidewalk that morning on his way to school. So the fact that he hadn't uttered a single word for the entire three months that he had been shagging his history professor was truly, majestically remarkable. 

But then, he had a lot of incentive.

Professor Morgana Lefay was still young - just under thirty - and still cared more about her appearance than her comfort. She showed up for class every day in oxford blouses that were always stretched tight against her skin and unbuttoned just so, revealing only the very teasing top of her cleavage, while her skirts were always at that questionable midpoint above her knees and just below her ass, so she looked proper when standing, but if she bent down enough and Gwaine tilted his head...

He honestly didn't know how he got so lucky.

He was living the best schoolboy fantasy, fucking his teacher after class every day since that first night he'd hit on her at a bar, the only problem being that _he couldn't tell anyone_. It was killing him. But every time he thought he might crack from the pressure, Morgana upped her game. She was always thinking of things for them to do. Bending her backwards over the edge of her bed and choking her until she came. Sucking his cock and not letting him come until he'd recited all the material that would be on his next exam. Spanking. Sex in a public parking garage. Sex in the car _while driving_. But she was always the one coming up with the ideas, teaching Gwaine in sex just like she taught him in school.

This time, though, it was all him.

He had her up on the edge of her office desk, her creamy white thighs clamped around his head while he fucked her with his tongue. He lapped at her soft pink folds in a lavish, slow pace that had her mewling in an agitated, yet helplessly horny, way. She would've yelled at him by this point if there weren't people walking by outside the door, a student or two possibly waiting just for her while she got fucked on the desk that they would innocently look across later. 

Gwaine smirked at the thought as he pulled away.

Morgana, who was resting back on her arms, looked down at him in dazed confusion. "Hnng? Wha – what are you – you're not done yet."

Gwaine laughed as she tried to pull him closer with her legs, but he wouldn't budge. No. He had a better plan for her. 

"Just let me get something...wait for it..." He pulled something out of a bag in his pocket.

Morgana's eyes widened. "Is that a – oh _fuck!_ "

Her curse turned into a breathy moan as Gwaine pressed a bullet vibrator against her clit, the little contraption buzzing on a low, gentle setting as he rubbed it against her. Gwaine slowly trailed the bullet lower, dipping the tip of it gently inside her before guiding it all the way in. Morgana's hips hitched up, and she moaned as Gwaine slipped his fingers in as well, pressing the vibrator right up against her pleasure point. He fucked her with it slowly and pressed a hot, open kiss on her clit.

Morgana stuttered out a whine when he pulled his fingers away, leaving the running vibrator tucked up inside her. He stood and leaned over her on the desk. Her legs automatically opened for him as he pressed forward to leave a kiss on her neck. 

"If you're a good girl," he said lowly, his voice rumbling against her chest, "then I'll let you come after class. I'll fuck you right there in the classroom."

He pressed a button on the remote in his hands, and the vibrator picked up power. Morgana's thighs clenched around his hips, and her ruby red lips smirked with mischief. 

"Yes, _sir_."

* * *

**30.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Emotional Manipulation?

"I can’t stay—There’s Gwen to think of and I—I _can’t_." Merlin’s long fingers tremble, curl into fists, shake at his sides. It’s as if he can’t contain himself, close to shattering apart with everything he isn’t saying. 

All Arthur can think is what now, what _more_? His closest friend revealed himself to be a sorcerer only days ago and now he’s being asked to swallow something else, to deal with some new disaster when he’s yet to figure out the first. "What’s Gwen got to do with this?" he snaps, because Merlin is a liar and everything Arthur’s been taught to despise and that’s easier, to hate him.

"Nothing," Merlin says, shakes his head. "Everything."

"If you’re not going to talk sense then—"

"I love you." Merlin lashes out with the words, making stripes in Arthur’s skin with them. His eyes flash gold and Arthur tenses, backs up a step, and the light in them dies. "I know I’m nothing. A servant. A sorcerer." Arthur’s eyes dart around at that, the casual way the word falls from Merlin’s mouth like he won’t be beheaded for it if it’s overheard. "You’re a prince," his lips tug at the edges, "even if you are a prat. I’m nothing but I still can’t stay and have you look at me like that."

He isn’t looking for a response because he’s already decided which one he’ll get. This is him lighting a powder keg and knowing he’s given himself no choice but to run, as if he’s afraid he might balk once he reaches Camelot’s gates. This is ensuring he won’t.

"Merlin." Arthur pauses. He’s losing him and he’s not even going to get to be the one to decide it. He’d thought of it, he can admit, of exiling Merlin for his betrayal. But now that he’s faced with it, he knows he could never abide it. Not when Merlin hadn’t lied to him, but _for_ him.

He’s not Gwen, soft and supportive with a snap in her wrist few knights could recreate while swordfighting and ready to stand at his side or in his stead. She’s what he wants not just for himself, but for the kingdom. Merlin’s idealistic, headstrong and has no ability to grasp the concept that the best option is sometimes not the right one.

He’s not a smart match and while Arthur cares for him, it isn’t love. Which means he can’t say the only thing he’ll want to hear.

"I’ll take the night," Merlin says resolutely. His hands are still balled together into fists but they’re no longer shaking, "to collect my things, to say goodbye to Gaius and then I’ll go."

Arthur dips his chin, can’t bring himself to say, ‘Don’t,’ and doesn’t think Merlin would listen even if he could. His eyes are rimmed red and wet and the castle stone is uneven and blurred and Merlin takes a step away and Arthur swallows everything that makes him who he is and lies. "I love you, too."

Merlin stutters to a stop, expression _opening_ and bright like Arthur never thought he would see on him again and he laughs – warm and new.

It makes Arthur’s insides shrivel.

*

Merlin comes to his chambers, still drunk on his happiness, and Arthur cups his sharp jaw and pulls him in for a soft kiss, a keening kiss, something that Merlin whines into. He teases him apart, sheds Merlin’s clothing while Merlin pants helplessly into his mouth, skin warm and lips pliant and stumbling.

He strokes Merlin’s cock through his breeches, all light touches, more promise than fulfillment. He takes Merlin into his mouth, long fingers curling into his hair rather than into fists. His father is always telling him that it’s a king’s job to make sacrifices.

He won’t get far without Merlin. He looks up into the heart-shaped face, the dropped lashes, as he wrings waves of pleasure out of Merlin and this feels like his greatest sacrifice. Perhaps it always will be. His future with Gwen for his present with Merlin.

After, Merlin flings an arm over his damp chest, wriggles against his side to get comfortable and breathes the words, those damning words again.

Arthur will learn to say it like he means it. He’s not like Merlin that way, not too noble to do what’s best for Camelot even if it isn’t what’s right. He says it back and it comes out smoother, less edges, less cuts. "I love you, Merlin."

* * *

**31.**

 **Pairing(s):** none, but Uther is a key figure  
 **Warning(s):** non con, sexual abuse of child (non-graphic), underage, power differential, emotional abuse

_The worst thing about it was, part of him had liked it._

He’d been sent to the castle when he was six, and his parents had been so pleased that he had been chosen to be fostered there. They were minor nobility, and not wealthy, and his father told him that the family’s chances for advancement rested on his shoulders. 

So he had kissed his mother and sisters goodbye, and started his new life as a part of Uther’s household. 

He was a page, and one of his duties was to be in Uther’s rooms in the evening in case the king needed to send a message. He tried to stay awake, but he was training hard, as well as spending a couple of hours a day with Geoffrey on lessons, and he was exhausted. 

And he was only a little boy, after all. 

The first time it happened, he had fallen asleep on a rug by the fire. When he woke up, Uther was standing over him, naked and erect. 

He’d never seen an erection before, and it looked huge, especially compared to his own penis. He blinked up at the king, not sure what was going on. 

"Go back to sleep," the king said. 

In the morning Leon thought perhaps he had dreamed it. It seemed like such an odd thing for Uther to do. That was the start. 

Uther would stroke his hair sometimes, and say, "Such beautiful golden curls," and the boy would puff up with pride. He would be able to do his family some good if the king liked him. 

One night he fell asleep again, and when he woke he was in bed with Uther, still clothed. Uther was naked. 

Once that began to seem normal, Uther would sometimes tangle one hand in Leon’s curls, murmuring, "So soft, such a good boy," while his other hand rapidly worked under the covers. 

The older man never physically hurt him. Eventually, he would wrap his fist around Leon’s prick and bring him off, or sometimes he would have Leon turn over onto his stomach and after a few minutes the boy would feel sticky heat on his bare buttocks. 

But there was never any penetration. Uther said he was too young. 

Uther said a lot of things. He said that their nights were private, and that it was a special secret between the two of them. 

He said that bad boys who talked out of turn got sent home in disgrace, and that their families shared in the disgrace. 

So it went on until Leon was thirteen and hit an awkward phase, with big feet and gangly limbs and a spotty face. Uther sent him to sleep in the knight’s quarters with the other squires, and took another pretty little boy to his bed. 

Eventually Leon realized that what had happened was wrong, even though it had made him feel so good, so special. 

He kept his head down and made himself into an excellent soldier, becoming leader of Camelot’s knights and indispensable to the king. 

When he was given charge of the pages waiting to become squires, he had sat across the table from Uther at council and announced that for the children’s health and morale, they would all sleep together in one room, instead of all over the castle as had been the previous practice. An older married couple would make sure they were all in bed and accounted for by the first evening bell, and would sleep by the door to ensure that no one came or left. 

He had looked Uther straight in the eye when he said it, and Uther had not overruled him. 

Now Leon was biding his time until Arthur became king. Arthur was a far better man than his father, and Leon looked forward to serving under a fair and idealistic king. 

In the meantime, if he was ever alone with Uther in a situation where the king’s death could be blamed on bandits or enemy soldiers, he would kill him. 

He suspected that Uther knew that, and that was one reason he so rarely left the keep. 

There might be others who were looking for vengeance for the same reason as Leon. Leon still felt some shame and guilt over what had happened, but his adult self knew that it wasn’t his fault, that Uther had abused his position and destroyed a boy’s innocence. 

Still… 

The worst thing about it was, part of him had liked it. 

* * *

**32.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Slavery, implied torture (scarring), dubcon to be safe.

Merlin’s not supposed to be at the farm. He can’t help himself, sometimes: the woods are his home, but you can only eat rabbit and fish so many hundred times before getting tired of them. The farmer’s wife makes pork that’s ‘– so delicious, best I’ve eaten in ages, thank you!’ He smiles. (He doesn’t say: the woods get so awfully lonely.)

*

Sweat glistens on the skin of the three slaves working the fields. Merlin might be staring a bit, mostly at the one whose hair reflects the sun in colours of straw – a warm, soft bed of straw. He seems too handsome to be a field slave, but scars crisscross over his back like arrows pointing down, down, down, as if to remind him of his place. 

*

Arthur’s eyes are blue like morning glories; Merlin finds out when Arthur traps him against the barn wall. 

‘Take me with you,’ he says, brusque. Arthur smells of sweat and flowers, like he was just rolling around in them. He’s very warm. He presses against Merlin, and says, ‘I can be very good to you,’ before clumsily mouthing a kiss into Merlin’s throat.

Nobody’s ever touched Merlin like that. He shakes, a little.

* 

He’s not supposed to do ostentatious magic, but he harvests all the fields in exchange for Arthur, anyway.

*

He lets Arthur lead the way; Merlin doesn’t care. Neither does Arthur, when Merlin tries to show him a small waterfall, or how to prepare the food. 

He doesn’t touch Merlin.

‘ _Stop that._ … Uh, it’s fine as it is. Master,’ is what he says when Merlin tries to soften the ground for him at night, and oh. He’s afraid of magic, like people were before – before Morgana overthrew Uther. Before Merlin knew things could get worse. 

Then he remembers the everlasting spell buried under Arthur’s skin that will either tether him to a master or kill him, and goes to sleep on the other side of the fire. 

*

(All Merlin knows is that one day Morgana’s army marched into Ealdor in search of Emrys from some prophecy, and almost burned it to the ground. He should not have taken Arthur. It’s safer for everyone if he’s alone.) 

*

Arthur insists on catching a fish himself. 

‘… Have you fished before? I mean, ever?’ Merlin says five hours later. 

Arthur gnashes his teeth. ‘What idiot lives in the woods and doesn’t have a crossbow?’

‘ _Hey_. A magical idiot, obviously.’

Two fish jump out of the river neatly into Arthur’s hands. He throws them back. Merlin sighs.

*

They walk, further and further.

*

Before Merlin has a chance to blink, Arthur has swung his fist into a bandit’s face, stolen his sword, and struck down another. 

After, Merlin puts his hand over the woman’s stab wound and whispers a spell. 

She lives.

That night, Arthur stares at him over the fire, considering, while he holds the stolen sword close as though it were made of gold. 

*

‘Well?’ Arthur looks at the river. ‘I’m hungry, and I’ve been walking all day.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll make sure not to follow you next time, then, _your highness_ ,’ Merlin says, but on the inside, he’s grinning. 

*

‘We have to turn back. We’re getting too close to Camelot.’

Arthur stills, the sword glinting by his side. ‘What’s wrong with Camelot?’

‘Can’t go there,’ Merlin says, and turns around; doesn’t think of all the people he will never meet.

*

He wakes up when Arthur kisses his shoulder. Arthur’s hair is wet; he smells like the river and grass, and all it takes is for him to mouth at a nipple through Merlin’s shirt, and Merlin’s hard. 

He doesn’t know how to kiss, but Arthur clearly does. 

‘Take me to Camelot,’ Arthur says, and tugs at his lip. His hands are warm and gentle on Merlin’s back; Merlin’s no fool, but for once, there is no echoing emptiness inside his chest; for once, he feels alive, and maybe, maybe this is worth dying for. 

He licks every one of Arthur’s scars, his lips sore from kissing, before rutting into him, like Merlin’s seen animals do; lets himself think _mine_ while mouthing at the back of his neck, gently. Arthur moans like he hasn’t known pleasure in a long time. 

After, Arthur says, ‘Shut up, you weren’t that good,’ but he’s flushed and dazed and lets Merlin curl around him.

*

‘Just visiting some relatives,’ Arthur says, staring at the castle towers. ‘Tell me, would you say you’re a fairly powerful sorcerer?’

(Unbeknownst to them, the prophecy unfolds. )

* * *

**33.**

 **Pairing(s):** Mithian/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** none

It’s easier than Mithian expects to say, "Nemeth" with no tremor or remorse. She puts her sword down on the table with enough force to command their attention and draws up to her full height, knowing the helmet hides her face and the chainmail covers her petite frame well enough. 

"I thought King Rodor had a daughter," Sir Leon says, his keen eyes moving along her frame. The squire with quill to parchment looks up as well, but his air is one of complete disinterest. 

"He does," she says, forcing her voice lower. "My sister."

The chainmail clings to her shoulders and she shifts the shield in her hand a little as they both study her. She’d taken it from the armoury, the crest of the Nemeth royal court emblazoned on the front, making it heavy and significant.

Sir Leon’s eyes are still on her when the squire nods, waving her off in the direction of the arena. It’s not her first tournament, but none of the ones she's fought in has been at a royal court. In the villages, it’s much easier to hide behind her secret identity. 

The crowd slowly comes to life outside the tents and she sits in silence, fiddling with the ribbon she’s cut from her dress. The battles outside are familiar; the clangs of metal and the answering rise of the crowd, living and breathing with the fight. 

Mithian has always played the part of the perfect Princess, but her father’s knights have always said she has the fight in her. It blooms in her heart, strong and intoxicating. 

When she enters the arena for the first fight, her heart pumps hard in her chest and her lips spread into a grin that nearly hurts. When she’s announced, she hears the mutters. She knows that there are people in Camelot who will question the information that King Rodor has a son. 

She’s playing a dangerous game. 

But it doesn’t matter. Not when she unties the ribbon from her arm and presents it to the visiting Princess Elena whose blinding smile had graced them in Nemeth some seasons ago. Not when she wins fight after fight, moving light on her feet with the familiar weight of a sword pressed into her palm. 

The sun is almost setting in Camelot when she faces Sir Percival in the final game of the tournament, her calloused hands sore. Sir Percival is a mountain of a man, his build intimidating to every opponent he faces, but she knows the gentleness in his smile and the careful touch of his hands. 

Mithian avoids the first swing of his sword by a hair, her footing unsteady until she catches herself, grounding herself to the earth. Her sword strikes at Sir Percival’s weakest side, catching him slightly off guard. The surprise doesn’t show on his face. He’s too well-trained for that. 

She smiles to herself in the privacy of her helmet, dancing from foot to foot in a series of quick shuffles that makes the crowd gasp. 

The last time she visited Camelot, she’d been a princess, and Sir Percival had only battled his hesitations for a long evening before he welcomed her kisses readily, his big hands splayed over her thighs. 

She remembers the steady glide of him inside her, hot and thick, and the warm slickness of his tongue on her neck. She remembers taking him into her bed and straddling him like a horse, riding him with her hair spilling down her back as his hands brushed along her ribs. 

She knows those hands gripping the blade. She’s had them buried in her hair, skimming over her stomach, cupping her neck. His lips purse as he swings the sword in her direction and she jumps back, feeling the phantom press of his lips at her collarbone.

And so, beating him in battle is nothing. She knows Sir Percival. She knows his gasps and the blush on his wide chest. She’s watched him move enough to know where to strike. 

The feeling of watching him fall on his back, her sword hovering above his chest, is unnervingly close to the feeling of shaking apart on his cock. 

She looks up at the cheering crowd, grins and pulls off her helmet, her hair falling down the length of her back. She holds her sword high, meeting her uncertain future with her head turned to the sky.

* * *

**34.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, unknown porn OCs  
 **Warning(s):** minor pet-play fantasies

It started with porn, as these things often do.

Honestly, it was something Merlin had never really considered until he stumbled across it and found himself staring at the woman on her knees, head bowed in submission. At first glance there was nothing that different about the woman: she looked similar to other women that started in the sort of artsy porn that Merlin tended to favor.

Merlin watched as she kept her head down, crawling forward in the frame, and rubbing her face against a pair of jean-clad legs. And when she shifted, that’s when Merlin saw it clearly: she was wearing a plug. But not just any plug. Hanging down between her legs, and swishing with the movement of her hips, was a full and fluffy fox tail.

Merlin felt the blood rush unexpectedly to his cock, which was still trapped in his jeans. He was surprised by his sudden arousal, but damn was he aroused.

He watched, fascinated, as the man stepped out of his jeans and slid to the floor, his back against the side of the bed. He beckoned her forward and rubbed his hand through her long black hair as she leaned into the touch. She then dipped forward and swallowed his cock, her ass raised in the air, tail hanging down between her spread knees.

Merlin made quick work on his jeans, freeing his own erecting and surprising himself with how turned on he was. Merlin watched all kinds of porn, and sure some couples or actors turned him on more than others, but it was usually due to their looks. No one had hit him the way this woman had.

As they changed positions on screen, the man bending the woman over the bed and flipping the tail up so that it lay don her spine as he fucked her, it occurred to Merlin that he wasn’t really attracted to the woman – he wanted to be in the woman’s position.

He could picture Arthur getting him ready, licking his hole until he was wet enough to slide a single finger inside. Once Merlin loosened a little, Arthur would slide two slick fingers in, stretching him and preparing him for the plug. He could imagine the coolness of the glass pressing against him. He could imagine how Arthur would kiss between his shoulder blades as he slide the plug in further, as he stretched around the widest part before it slid into place. He could feel the softness of the fur rub against the back of his balls, against the back of his legs.

He would nuzzle against Arthur’s lap and gaze up at him with sad-puppy eyes, trying to convey without words how much he wants Arthur’s cock in his mouth. And when he wraps his lips around Arthur, he would raise his ass into the air and sway his hips so show how happy he is.

And he could picture Arthur sucking his cock, and seeing both Arthur and the tail between his legs. He could imagine Arthur rubbing his cheeks against the tail, which in turn would run against his legs and…

With a shout Merlin came across his hands and stomach. On screen the man had pulled out, and the woman was repositioning herself so that she could curl up in his lap. Merlin felt his heart clench in his chest as he watched the man run his hands through her hair in long strokes, and how she closed her eyes and relaxed into his hold.

Merlin spent a moment catching his breath before he cleaned himself up. He had some research to do.

…

Merlin stared at the silk bag in his lap, his face already flushing with future embracement and unable to look Arthur in the eye. He had spent months working himself up to this, browsing different websites, and looking for the perfect one, eventually settling on a wolf tail to match his own darker hair.

He didn’t look up as he explained what he wanted to Arthur, told him about his fantasies, and how it turned him on to picture himself as Arthur’s pet. When he finally did look up, he caught the heated look in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur leaned forward and kissed Merlin, long and hard. When they finally broke apart he whispered, "show me," and Merlin took a deep breath and revealed his tail.

* * *

**35.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur (both reincarnated)  
 **Warning(s):** mental instability; mental institution; underage (hinted at); mention of suicide and self-harm; identity confusion. (* Line by Neruda, "Every Day You Play". Prompt also inspired by Neruda’s "Entrance Into Wood": _come to me, to my measureless dream, fall into my room where night falls / and let us make fire, and silence, and sound, and let us burn, and be silent, and bells._ )

 

They make you speak to therapists. You ignore the first two; they call you Javier. Third is Gaius. You correct him when he says, "Javier."

"Merlin," you say. "My name."

There’s silence. At length, Gaius nods. "Okay, Merlin. Two weeks ago, you tried to kill yourself..."

*

Gaius keeps calling you Merlin. He treats you like you’re normal, lets you keep pretending.

So you tell him: of growing up being _wrong_ , cutting your skin to see if another person lived inside. Of dreaming, each night, of forever ago: a dying man telling you to hold him. Of wet cheeks in the mornings, your hollow chest. Of trying to find him and never finding him. Of feeling crazy, alone.

After a long silence, Gaius says, gentle, "He doesn’t exist, Merlin." 

You say, "Then I don’t exist either."

A secret you never told anyone: you _know_.

You know Arthur doesn’t exist.

*

Arthur doesn’t exist. Liam does.

You don’t know what it means (yet), but four weeks later, there’s Liam, the new boy. Seventeen, brown-skinned, dark-eyed. Likes to play footie. 

Another suicidal one.

At night, Liam wakes the entire ward screaming, crying. Days go by (a week, two), and he doesn’t speak, keeps to himself.

Sometimes, when you watch TV, stare out of the window, you look up, find him watching you.

*

One day, you ask about Liam. 

"That new guy," you say. "What’s up with him?"

"Liam? Insists he’s white. Says he’s blond, blue-eyed. Like some fuckin’ Aryan." The kid shrugs. "Guess some racist bastard fucked him up."

You watch Liam back, then. When your heart beats now, you’re oddly aware of it.

*

After, you feel your heart pulse constantly. In anxiety, joy, boredom. The first time talking to Liam, it’s all at once.

"Hello," you say. "You’re new."

Liam shrugs.

"I’m... I’m Merlin. What’s--your name?"

Liam looks up, with eyes that are not blue. They’re familiar in their unfamiliarity, making your heart stutter. "I think," he says, "you know my name."

*

When Liam wakes screaming next, you wake with him, panicked. You’re at his bedside in a second.

Liam’s holding his side like he’s hurt. The scene is so familiar you can’t breathe. You’re suddenly terrified you’ll lose him again, but--it can’t be. How can you lose something again you’ve never had?

"Merlin. _Merlin_ —"

"I’m here," you whisper, unable to do anything but crouching, touching your forehead to his. When Liam breathes, broken, "Just—just hold me," you do. 

You hold him, at last.

The peace you feel is beyond anything.

*

The next day, you slip Liam a letter.

"If you understand," you murmur, "come to me."

*

Liam does, quiet like the night. He wraps himself around you like he never did anything else. "Can I," he says, hoarse, into your ear. "Merlin, can I—"

Not knowing what he’s asking for, you say, "Yes"; the scent under his arm isn’t a phantom’s but alive, sweaty, musky on your tongue as you lick that secret place—is _his_ , even if you don’t know what that means.

His fingers in you stir a firequake, a bright burn making all the deep places inside you shudder apart. His eyes are blue in the moonlight, his skin an enticing umber.

When he pushes—pushes— _pushes_ inside, your back arches, your neck gives away. His wounded noises against your throat are skilled musician’s fingers plucking at your heart strings. You make a sound too, long, low, shattered.

"L-Liam. _Liam_ —"

"Say my name," he hisses, desperate.

"I—"

" _Say it_."

He’s heavy above you. Burning, big, inside. You’re _full_ with him—

His hips circle, shove. Him in you is this: Plato’s ruptured figures realigning smoothly in other places. His teeth, your neck; your hand, his waist—

You don’t say his name.

After, you’re pressed close together. His hand, large on your hip, is proprietary. You don’t need to say, _stay with me_ , any longer.

The blindness is gone. You see now: his skin, dark and light. Eyes, brown and blue. He is Liam and Arthur, and neither. Like you.

"You are like nobody, since I love you,"* you recite the words of your letter, quietly. 

He buries his face in your neck, hiding. A while later, he mutters, "I know."

Your fingers stroke his trembling back. Dust dances like stars in the moonlight cutting through the shutters. You kiss his hair. His tremble dissipates.

Maybe you’re not Merlin, maybe he’s not Arthur. Maybe you don’t exist.

It’s okay. 

You can just not exist together, now.

* * *

**36.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwen solo  
 **Warning(s):** possible allegory for being closeted

Guinevere was well loved and respected and rarely received any grievances at Mesin, the weekly gathering of citizens of Iltadox for grievance airing, forgiveness touch circles, and isolated meditation. Once or twice she’d been chastised for ignoring the plight of Entruchs (those from high jinar found to be Abnormal and reassigned to the lower jinar), but more often than not, she instead found excuses to air her own grievances—to Arthur, the stunning blond reporter, for his insensitivity towards lower jinar children; to Morgana, the buxom Edinball player, for brushing past Guinevere on Jin Street without saying hello; to Merlin and Leon and Elena and Morgause, for any reason she could think of.

Guinevere was taught in parliament preparatory school that the first few generations after the Great Purge had nearly seen their carefully structured society obliterated. In Iltadox, only the lower jinar reproduced. The high jinar, the working class who kept the atmosphere safe, the water drinkable, and the hydroponic farms productive, had no need for sex, but their lingering craving for it was nearly Iltadox’s undoing. Soon after the Great Water Shortage, however, there was a renewed adherence to the system, and by now, sexual arousal was something taught to initiates of the lower jinar, having been washed from the status quo of the species.

Upon being inspected at birth and deemed of high aptitude, a glance at the household requests saw Guinevere assigned to the highest jinar, which was populated by physicians, government officials, and the media. Her Mutox was Head Inspector of Infirmaries, and after her primary education, Guinevere was enrolled in the accelerated program at parliament school, which saw her as Junior Administrator of Civil Welfare within two years.

Guinevere’s life was wonderful by all conventional measures. But there was something deeply unconventional about her, something that would strip her of her title, of her life purpose, if anyone ever learned of it—something Abnormal.

 

There was little use for privacy amongst the high jinar. Without sexual attraction, bodies were just tools. People wore clothing or didn’t, depending on the activity of the moment or their personal inclinations for or against fashion. This made things very difficult for Guinevere, who found bodies of all kinds incredibly exciting. She feigned fashionista so as not to draw undue attention to the fact that she _always_ wore clothing. She went to work in clothes. She exercised in them, went to the spa in them, slept in them. She invested hundreds of hours (and thousands of cost units) in her supposed hobby to hide the fact that if she weren’t wearing panties, she’d constantly be walking with trails of slick down her thighs.

Mesin was the only place Guinevere was guaranteed privacy, the only time she could indulge in touch, could place her hands on others’ bodies, wherever she chose, under the guise of forgiveness. Each week, she’d air a feigned grievance in order to get some gorgeous person’s hands on her tits, her arse, sliding up between her legs. She’d bury her face in someone’s hair, their neck, breathing them in, sometimes tasting. Morgana’s beautiful tits, Arthur’s generous arse, Merlin’s perfect lips. She would touch and be touched until they agreed that all grudges had been lifted, that they’d found oneness again, and then she would retreat to one of the austere meditation rooms and lock the door behind her.

Sometimes she didn’t even bother slipping off her panties, just jammed both hands down the front of her skirt and slid four fingers into her cunt, humping hard against her hands for the twenty, thirty seconds it took to come. Sometimes she got completely naked and built it up for ages, squeezing her nipples, running just the tip of one finger up and down the length of her slit before slowly teasing inside, thumb occasionally brushing over her clit. Sometimes she took the mirror out of her satchel and watched her fingers disappearing into her body, hot and secret and forbidden and so good she had to bite down on the ornate leather collar of her jacket to keep from crying out.

Sometimes, in her most guarded fantasies, Guinevere imagined being reassigned to the lower jinar, fucking and being fucked as much, as long, as hard as she could take it. But after she came and cleaned herself up, she put that thought away. Parliament was her calling. And she couldn’t possibly be the only Entruch in the highest jinar.

* * *

**37.**

 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Arthur, Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Merlin/Morgana,  
 **Warning(s):** Half-sibling incest (set vaguely during S3, so character awareness of this status is unclear), dubious consent.

Arthur's heart pounds until he trembles with it as he watches Morgana display her newest intention. The dark polished wood gleams in the light from the fireplace and Morgana's eyes flicker, more unreadable and unfathomable than they've ever been before.

There's been a harsh brittleness to her ever since they'd brought her back to Camelot, a sharp, almost cruel, edge that cuts against him every time they touch like this.

"Yes," he whispers brokenly and drops his head between his arms where he is spread on all fours across the bed.

It's profane, the inexorable push of it as she falls to her knees behind him, the huge phallus secured to a makeshift harness around her soft, lithe body.

His vision blurs as she begins the full force of her thrusts, the firm swell of her breasts and tight, pebbled nipples stroking along his back and making him shiver uncontrollably as she leans over him.

He's alight and wants to _scream_ with it, with this burning that will sear him and rip him in two if he doesn't let it out. But her hand is there like a vise, squeezing his jaw shut.

"Shhhh, it's our little secret remember." She laughs in his ear, snapping her hips forward until he keens under her.

He does remember. He'll always remember. In so many ways she's all he's ever known. (And in his darkest moments, watching Merlin laugh along with _his_ knights and touch their shoulders or the spoilt, disinterested princesses that Uther deigns to grace his presence with, he shudders with the thought that she's all he ever _will_ know, at least like this.)

He remembers the thin skin of her thighs and the scent of her sex as he carefully explored all the ways to make her gasp and moan that first time. He'd never been that interested in women -- still isn't truly -- but she was someone he could please and the way she'd smiled at him after...

He still goes to great lengths to protect that, their secret, little game.

As she rakes her nails down his back he is dizzy with how that game has changed.

"You wish Merlin were here now, don't you, Arthur? I see the way you look at him; you'd give anything to suck his cock while I fuck you."

Arthur closes his eyes and whines into the mattress. _Oh fuck, oh fuck._

" _Wouldn't you_ , Arthur? You didn't answer my question," she growls and smacks his thigh.

"Yes, yes, _god_ ," he groans, the words ripped from inside his chest and punching out all the air in his lungs.

Fuck, it's all he thinks about some days, the want driving him until he snaps at Merlin mercilessly, if only to stop himself from pushing Merlin onto his bed and losing himself completely in that long, lean body and bright smile.

Her hand fists in his hair and _yanks_ until his cock twitches and he looks ahead. "Well, you heard your master, Merlin. Come here."

Arthur panics at the sight of Merlin stumbling forward, flushed and frowning -- _Oh god, what if he never wants to come near me again?_ \-- but then he sees the prominent bulge and scrambles manically with one hand for the laces of Merlin's trousers, anything to cut off Merlin's "Morgana, what are you--"

He'll be ashamed later, but he's flying off the edges of the world, a pulsing throb of _want_ that must have _now_.

And Merlin's just as long and perfect, the heady scent of him just as overwhelming as he'd always fantasised. He's never wanted anything more, to be so completely surrounded by the two he loves and trusts more than anyone.

"Don't you worry about me," Morgana says, scratching a nail down Merlin's cheek and across his lips. "I know just how to use that pretty mouth of yours once we're done with him. You can show me what a good _servant_ you are. And maybe, if you can get it up again, I'll let you fuck me and then Arthur can lick me clean until the whole mess is gone. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Arthur? You could spend hours down there, worshipping me, and just think of how swollen and dripping with us both it will be once I've let Merlin satisfy me. You'd _love_ it."

Arthur makes a pained, wounded sound and buries his head as far on Merlin's cock as he can, until he chokes for want of air. _He would, he would, he would._

* * *

**38.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

As Merlin grunted and sweat poured from his brow, Arthur was embarrassed by how turned on he was getting. There was just something about how into this Merlin got that turned him on fiercely. He loved watching Merlin be so commanding and forceful.

Merlin looked into his eyes and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his wrist. He bit his lip and gave Arthur a crooked grin. "What are you smiling about?"

Arthur was sure his cheeks were turning red and turned away from Merlin’s gaze. "Nothing."

But Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t falling for that. His expression said it all. Normally, Arthur loved that Merlin could read him like no one else could, but not right now.

Merlin paused. "Is this turning you on?"

Arthur didn’t say anything but looked down at the meat in front of him sheepishly. 

Merlin laughed and looked at the kitchen counter and the dough he was just kneading and the mess surrounding it - scattered flecks of flour, tomato sauce, sausages, and pepperoni. 

Arthur wasn’t sure when it had started, but he had noticed recently that he got hopelessly horny whenever Merlin cooked. It had always amused him how the usually laid back and quiet Merlin got so vocal and intense whenever he cooked.

He would sweat and curse and be laser focused on the task at hand. The first time Merlin had attempted to make homemade pizza, Arthur noticed that he was getting hard watching Merlin knead the dough mercilessly. 

Arthur started to imagine Merlin manhandling him that way. He imagined Merlin kneading the pale, firm flesh of his ass and nestling his face in between his cheeks and making a meal out of him. Arthur had left an oblivious Merlin behind and wanked off in the bathroom.

No matter what Merlin cooked now, he had the same reaction. He usually made himself scarce when Merlin cooked lately, but Merlin had requested his help tonight. It wasn’t the weirdest kink in the world, but Arthur found it a little embarrassing. 

"I know, I know it’s odd," Arthur mumbled. He started to walk away, but Merlin grabbed his wrist. 

"It really is getting you hot!" Merlin said in surprise. 

When Arthur nodded quickly, Merlin grinned slyly. He cornered Arthur and backed him up against the counter. His crotch grazed against Arthur’s and he raised his eyebrow at the tell-tale bulge in Arthur’s pants. He leaned back and wrinkled his nose. "It’s not the dough, is it?"

Arthur pushed at Merlin’s shoulders in a huff. "No, of course not." Arthur looked down, but Merlin gently tipped his chin up to look back at him. Merlin had a sweet, but teasing smile on his face. "It’s just you get so intense and...rough. I like it."

"You like it rough." Merlin whispered.

"Yeah." The way Merlin was eyeing him was doing nothing to calm down his raging hard on.

Suddenly, Arthur found himself hoisted onto the hard, cold countertop as Merlin tossed aside the dough.

Arthur decided to put aside his annoyance that Merlin had gotten flour all over his black dress pants. 

Merlin’s fingers flew as he quickly whipped off Arthur’s belt and pulled down his pants.

"What are you doing?"

Merlin took off Arthur’s boxers. "I thought I’d have a little pre-dinner snack."

Arthur almost laughed at the cheesy line, but any response was cut off by the loud moan wrung out of him as Merlin licked a long, hot strip against his hole.

Arthur was reduced to an incoherent mess in no time at all. He licked around the edge of Arthur’s hole over and over again. As Arthur lost all control of the muscles in his body holding him up, he was on the verge of begging Merlin to put his tongue inside of him when Merlin read his mind and did just that.

Arthur could feel Merlin smile against his bottom as Merlin jabbed his tongue in and out twice and Arthur found himself coming without ever getting close to even touching his cock.

Merlin stood up and Arthur lifted his head in time to see Merlin furiously stroke his own leaking member three times, before he came all over the kitchen floor.

Bending over a still delirious Arthur, Merlin laid his head against Arthur’s chest. After a second, Merlin placed a gentle kiss on Arthur’s lips. Arthur tasted himself against Merlin’s wet mouth and deepened the kiss.

When Merlin pulled back breathlessly, Arthur chuckled. "The next time we do this, maybe we should clean up a little first. I have dough in some very uncomfortable places."

* * *

**39.**

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, Merlin/Knights  
Warnings: mildly dubious consent, magic-made-them-do-it

Arthur seethed as he and his knights bore Merlin to the Isle of the Blessed. Years of restraint would be unraveled in mere hours. Damn Merlin and his insistence on drinking poison and revealing Arthur’s heart in the process. 

They reached the misty Isle at dawn, Percival carrying a bound and whimpering Merlin to the stone table that stood at its center. Leon, Lancelot, Elyan, and Gwaine followed wordlessly.

Arthur recalled Gaius’ instructions – _hemp rope at four corners_ \-- and nodded to Percival. Together, they stripped Merlin of his garments and rebound his struggling form. 

"Right," Arthur said, his voice shaking. It had to be done.

***

It had all started in the tavern, Gwaine explained to Gaius as he and Arthur burst through the door, dragging a flushed and convulsing Merlin between them. As Arthur deposited Merlin onto Gaius’ cot, Merlin grabbed at whatever he could reach, which included several leeches, a rabbit mask, Gaius’ hair, and Arthur’s inner thigh. Arthur stilled Merlin’s hands as best he could and held his breath while Gaius completed his examination. 

"I fear Merlin has fallen prey to the _Sceafta Monegum_ , Sire," Gaius said, looking grave. "An ancient elixir, created by the High Priestesses to humiliate men they felt had wronged them."

Gwaine frowned and asked, "So why Merlin? Who seeks revenge on him?"

Gaius hesitated. "I couldn't say. Nevertheless, we must remedy the effects, and soon, before Merlin is driven mad."

"Before?" Arthur joked. Gaius did not smile back. "Very well, what must be done? Another flower?" 

Not another flower.

***

"Right,"Gwaine said, finally. He walked over to Merlin and unlaced his breeches. "He just needs a few of his best mates to come all over him and Arthur to fuck him with a deadly object? Just your average night at the tavern then." 

"You go to some fucked up taverns," Elyan retorted. 

Arthur ignored the banter and watched, his gut churning, as Gwaine bent down to whisper in Merlin’s ear. Had they done this before? Merlin seemed to nod occasionally, as if Gwaine’s voice could calm him, and that hurt even more than watching Gwaine's grin as he came all over Merlin's face, so globs of it slid down to Merlin's ears and over his puffy, bitten lips.

Yet Arthur couldn't look away while the others took their turns. Leon determined, Percival shy, Elyan restrained, and Lancelot worshipful as they each painted Merlin’s skin with come, causing Merlin to gurgle in delight with each pulse and pull at his bonds until the rope left angry welts in his skin. They all obeyed Arthur’s reminder that they couldn't touch Merlin-- _Gaius said not to, only me, part of the spell_ \-- though in truth, Gaius had said no such thing. 

By Arthur’s turn, Merlin was writhing and mindless, nonsense spilling from his mouth as the spell worked through him. Arthur wished he could have found this more difficult, out of respect for his friend, but it was easy, so easy, to bring himself off to the tune of Merlin’s half-formed pleas. He'd never been harder in his life; it took scant few strokes to set Arthur off. His release had barely ebbed when Arthur worked two fingers into Merlin, adding spit to the come he collected on his fingers in the hope Merlin might get a little pleasure from what came next. He braced his other hand on Merlin’s belly and slowly slid the hilt of his sheathed dagger into him, impaling him with the cold steel required by the spell.

Merlin babbled softly while Arthur worked the dagger. Was he in pain? Arthur could change that. It was as if he were the one under the spell as he bent to slide Merlin’s leaking cockhead between his lips. He knew the knights watched, so he angled the hilt into Merlin harder _one, two, three_ and Merlin arched into Arthur’s mouth, screaming.

Finally, Merlin settled down. His expression of bliss didn't fade as Arthur unbound him, made him drink some water, and carefully wrapped him up in his red cloak. 

***

"Sire," Sir Leon said as they met in the council chambers two days later. "I believe we have identified the culprit in the…attack…against Merlin. The barmaid claims she saw Dragoon—the old sorcerer—in her pantry less than a half hour before."

"But why would the old sorcerer want to humiliate my _manservant_?" Arthur asked.

Gaius raised his eyebrow in alarm at Merlin, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

**40.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/ Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Gender swap. Sex by deception.

It began as an innocent endeavor.

Merlin had found the spell in his book early on in his studies and had always wondered what the transformation would feel like and if he had the control to maintain it.

He knew Gaius would disbelieve any excuse he’d make about pure curiosity, one impeccable eyebrow raised towards the heavens; so he never bothered to seek out his counsel.

Instead he let the thought sit in his mind until it began to grow and fester.

He pondered it in his spare time, plagued by the phantom feeling of long black tresses caressing his shoulders and the pale silky smoothness of skin he was never born to have.

At night, alone in his bed and plagued with his thoughts, he would trace the hard bones in his face and try to envision how it would morph into something more delicate and refined, how he could endure a metamorphosis into something so much more beautiful than himself if only he tried.

***

His opportunity finally came well into his second year at Camelot with a large delegation of nobles arriving from Mercia. 

Amongst the chaos of the visiting elite Merlin slips away to the safety of his own rooms the spell out of his lips before the door is even completely shut in his haste.

The differences are startling, not because of what has changed but in what remains the same. His cheekbones are still sharp but his features are softer as if he were meant to be born like this. His eyes are still blue but his eyelashes are thicker whilst his eyebrows frame a beautiful heart shaped face.

Merlin’s long pale form is accentuated with small breasts, perfectly formed to his figure, whilst straight long black hair falls down bellow his shoulders.

He finally feels comfortable in himself for the first time in forever.

***

To everyone else Merlin is busy tending to the Mercian delegation, so busy in fact that a new maid accepts many of his duties. Emrys they call her.

Hair darker than midnight and a face that could make her kin to Morgana.

And yet when Arthur sees her he stares as if she were a puzzle or a mystery whilst pursuing her figure with an implied invitation that she dare not accept.

The lie between them is too great.

The last night of Mercian occupation comes quicker then Merlin would have liked, not yet ready to give up the freedom and completeness that Emrys provides, but he can feel winter in the air as the night cools and the stone grows icy beneath his feet.

Arthur is sleeping restlessly when she enters his rooms, the fire low in the hearth allowing an encroaching chill into the air. 

She tends to it halfheartedly, until the flames have grown once more and a heat seeps into the tired bones of her body. When she stands she can feel more than just the heat of the fire on her form as Arthur eyes her figure from the bed, his blankets pulled back and chest bare in an invitation that she can no longer ignore now that time has escaped her.

Silently she joins Arthur, already grieving a relationship that never was and the lies that exist between them.

Arthur, already bare to his sleep hose strips her with the utmost care, kissing every new inch of skin revealed to him as if she were a precious gift. He caresses her breasts before replacing them with his lips, feeling softer than satin on her skin.

She tries to expel the melancholy from her mind by returning the touch, his skin hot under her fingers. She traces down the strong form of his shoulders to his softly-haired chest, petting it gently until he laughs into her bosom before she moves _lower_ gripping his manhood firmly just as she know she likes.

Arthur groans in pleasure, tangling his fingers into her dark hair as she teases him, experimenting with different speeds and pressure until she can see in his face he’s ready to spend. 

She pulls herself free of him to take his cock into her mouth, suddenly more than anything, wanting to feel his hot sword on her lips. 

She licks at his crown, worshiping and adoring him in a way that is usually forbidden, until she can hear Arthur swear at her taunting and swallows him down in one motion.

Arthur cries out in pleasure as he comes down her throat and Merlin swears she hears her real name spill from his lips, but it must be wishful thinking because when she asks if he can ready again the only thing that he says with a tender fondness is "Idiot."

* * *

**41.**

 **Pairing(s):** Elyan/Freya  
 **Warning(s):** Brief references to past canon character death; biphobia

"Why didn't you come home for the funeral?"

Gwen doesn't look accusing, just sad. The house is half-empty and hollowed out around her, boxes stacked in corners, packing material in neat piles beside them.

Elyan isn't sure what he should say. What comes out of his mouth is, "I didn't know if he'd have wanted me there."

_Now_ Gwen looks accusing. They both know that isn't true.

-

The truth is, when Elyan came out, he'd expected a bigger reaction. Which was why he didn't come out all the way, not really.

"Welcome to the club, mate!" Gwaine got his arm up around the back of Elyan's neck and pulled him into a friendly headlock. It was the kind of rough-housing he'd learned from Arthur. Elyan tolerated the indignity for about three seconds before jabbing him in the ribs.

"Oi!" But Gwaine laughed and let go.

Leon was holding out his hand for Elyan to shake, like saying "I'm gay" was some sort of thing to be congratulated on. Maybe it was, for some people.

Elyan shook Leon's hand, and smiled, and let Percy pound him on the back, and didn't speak, and didn't speak, and didn't speak.

-

He could have told Gwaine; he sees that now.

Gwaine was the only guy in their group who proudly declared himself bi, and no one gave him any grief for it.

-Except that was a lie. People in their broad circle gave him constant grief. They made jokes about how many people he'd slept with, how easy he was. They made jokes right in front of Gwaine, forcing him to laugh with them or make things uncomfortable. Gwaine might not hesitate to fight other people's battles for them, but he was terrible at tackling his own.

Elyan cursed himself for a coward. He could have stood up for Gwaine. He could have been honest with his friends.

He told his father instead.

-

Dad had been confused. Not hostile, not angry, not asking Elyan to change. He just didn't know what Elyan meant, or what he wanted.

"So you like women?" Dad set down his fork and gave Elyan his full attention. "You still want to marry a woman, but you want to date men too?" Deep grooves wrinkled his forehead as he tried to understand.

Elyan sighed. "No, Da, I don't know who I want to marry, or if I want to get married at all. I just like both men and women." He pushed his plate away, not really hungry anymore. Behind him, Gwen bustled in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.

"Oh," Dad said, his forehead smoothing out. Then he got up from the table and came around to give Elyan a one-armed hug.

Hugs were always Dad's way of dealing with anything that upset his children, especially when he couldn't do anything about it.

Gwen made them skip to dessert.

+

Fear made him lose time, lose people.

"Merlin wants to know who my boyfriend is," Freya said quietly. "I told him it's none of his business."

Elyan buried his head the fall of her hair over her shoulder. She'd lie for him, he knew. He'd never brought her home to meet his Dad, never let her tell their friends. He didn't want to hear, "You're cured now, eh mate?" He didn't want to be cut out of the community, Gwaine's headlocks and Percy's backslaps and Leon's handshakes. He didn't want to be "Oh, you're not gay anymore?"

It wasn't fair to Freya, what fear made him ask of her.

He went down on her that night for what seemed like forever, lips and tongue moving over her sensitive, swollen flesh in a silent apology. _I'm sorry_ he said with a flick of his tongue across her clit. _I'll try to be braver,_ he promised with a graze of teeth.

She came apart above him, shaking and silent as always, and when he looked up, she was staring down at him with so much love and sadness that he felt like he could finally cry.

Her arms tugged him up, and she held on so tight he thought it might be okay to break.

+

"We're dating," he told the room, tucking an arm around Freya's waist. "Eight months now."

Merlin blinked, then slowly smiled. Arthur opened his mouth, but Gwaine leaned over to casually slap a hand over it.

"Congratulations, mate," Gwaine said sincerely.

Elyan breathed for what felt like the first time in years.

* * *

**42.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Gwen, Daegal/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Voyeurism, Possessive/Jealously

As plaintive and inferior as a servant's position can be, Gwen however learned early on the benefits of secreted alcoves within the castle.

Chaste had been her discovery, only hearing gossip from the scullery.

It was, perhaps, eventual that _Merlin_ knew of them as well.

*

Gwen counted herself fortunate to watch Merlin blossom from a mere clumsy boy to a sturdy, confident man. 

As his queen, now she could only watch from afar.

Never by herself, not with Arthur pressing a full-bodied lean into her back. His open mouth trailing softly over Gwen's lovely skin, brown as oak. The odor of laboriously sweating bodies and fluids invading Gwen's new-found sensitivity, both equal parts revolting and beginning to arouse her.

They both watched, in darkness and strained breathing, as Merlin fucked his cock up to drag against a boy's oiled, pert arse, laughing and red-cheeked.

Low and throaty, the noise of Merlin's laughter jerked Arthur's own cock against his breeches and Gwen, rutting him further into her thigh.

"He's been lying about picking herbs… " he whispered, nearly growing.

Gwen bit down on her lower lip, shivering at Arthur's possessive voice. 

She and Arthur understood that, despite their fondness for him, this was how it had to be. Merlin was free to his own dalliances. He often flirted with the maidservants, from what Gwen knew, and even with Gaius's newest apprentice ( _…Daegal, was that his name?_ ). She caught him staring longingly in Merlin's direction, pupils wide-dark and nostrils flaring.

Perhaps to spare the king and queen's feelings, Merlin didn't speak the truth.

"Merlin always lies about picking herbs," she reminded Arthur, smiling. Gwen reached out, gently humming and combing her fingers through fine, blond hair.

Touching him seemed to bring ease.

He spread his hands over her velvet, richly clothed dress and her sides, cupping over her tender breasts and dropping to the mildest swell of her belly, Arthur's fingers lacing together. 

Warmth and love flamed inside Gwen, for her husband, for the tiny life growing in her. 

And the same warmth blazed hotter and pulsed, slicking her thighs.

Daegal's hands knuckled the end of the wood table, hips jostled forward in rhythm to Merlin burying inside him and cries emptying him, heightened with pleasure.

She hadn't known what drove them into their current location, but Gwen wouldn't lose this thrill. She spun into Arthur, leveling his face away from the writhing display and kissing him rougher than necessary. It seemed to be _exactly_ what Arthur desired as he pulled her close with a loud, needy groan and frisking up her skirts.

Even with their over-eagerness, he couldn't have her like this. Not without one of Arthur's salves from the bedchamber or even a cream to smooth the passage.

The damp gland of Arthur's cock nudged against the seam of her legs, as she parted them instinctively, her willowy hands trembling on Arthur's shoulders.

With little, slow thrusts, he worked in the cradling heat of her inner thighs. 

The pressure directly rubbing on her clitoris brought on a long, ragged sigh. 

Arthur nipped teasingly on her earlobe, converting her exhale into a hitching giggle. Her arms embraced him, savoring his nearness and broad warmth.

Gwen wished to spend the next eternity like this, her head tingling and floaty. She would _never_ leave Arthur's strong hands, riding him and clenching her muscles, just seconds from him falling to her mercy. Listening to Arthur devoutly murmur her name again, and again.

As soon as she recognized the familiar twitches, how tightly Arthur's bollocks drew up, Gwen took his prick with her hand. She breathed in, pushing the swollen, bulbous head past those folds of her opening. Gwen met her own desire with the exquisite friction of her fingertips, stifling a cry with her other hand. 

Arthur released himself in a low whine, spasming inside her, unable to fill her cervix and dribbling out.

Feeling disgusting in a combination of their mess, but satiated and energetic, Gwen shushed him, palming Arthur's head. She urged him downwards and faintly kissed its crown as Arthur rested his face against the tops of her exposed breasts.

Blood no longer pounding in her ears, Gwen noticed the absolute silence.

No moans, no whispers or pleas.

She peered quickly through the sunlit cracks of the battered, wood door.

Merlin ushered a confused Daegal out of the antechamber, still beautifully red-cheeked. 

Her heart skipping a beat when he aimed a look and slow, coy grin towards her.

* * *

**43.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/ Arthur   
**Warning(s):** Could be read as dub-con, but it's more like rough play 

"When were you going to tell me, Merlin?" Arthur hisses. He jerks Merlin even closer and twists Merlin's arm behind him. 

"Arthur! I.. I didn’t…" Merlin yelps.

Arthur’s blue eyes are wide with...shock? Anger? Before Merlin can react, Arthur lunges at him with a guttural sound. 

Arthur’s hand cups Merlin's arse, and he wiggles involuntarily, gripped by Arthur’s sudden outburst even as he’s uncertain where this is going. His cock twitches, excited by the turn of events. 

"You’ve been wearing these things, Merlin?" Arthur delves into Merlin’s joggers and slips his fingers into the wispy fabric hidden beneath the cotton. 

"I…." Merlin squeaks, hardly daring to breath as Arthur’s fingers trail over his bare skin, running just under waistband of his underwear. _Oh god, his underwear._

Merlin’s cheeks flame at the thought. He closes his eyes, unable to meet Arthur’s gaze. What must Arthur think? That Merlin is some deviant? He waits for Arthur to say something, but there's only their heavy breathing. The darkness heightens all Merlin’s other senses, and he bites down a gasp when Arthur’s clever hands - when did both of them get involved? - knead his arse cheeks. 

Arthur can’t seem to decide between grabbing Merlin's bare bum and stroking the fabric. His hands are here, there, everywhere, and Merlin, god help him, Merlin loves it. 

Merlin is lost in his own world of sensory overload. He’s not sure when it happened, but his joggers have been pushed down. Cool air brushes against his backside, drifting in through the eyelets of his panties, while Arthur’s hot hands rub the curve of his cheeks. Firm fingers trail under the delicate fabric, making Merlin writhe with pleasure. 

Merlin’s cock is fully interested now. He arches forward, frantically rubbing himself against the broad expanse of Arthur’s chest. He wants more of Arthur; Arthur wanting him and touching him so much is making his head spin. 

"So hot, Merlin," Arthur purrs, growly and predatory. Merlin's shock that Arthur's not disgusted lasts a split second, to be replaced by a surge of lust for this fit specimen before him. 

The flimsy lace panties can hardly hold Merlin's dick; it's painfully hard and straining as it peeks over the lace. Arthur's noticed, because he gives a needy moan and relinquishes Merlin's arse to spin him around and press him against the wall. 

"Arthur?" Merlin's not happy and leans back, but Arthur has him in hand, and Merlin is purring with pleasure again. 

Arthur palms Merlin's dick through the lattice. Merlin looks down to see the rosy head smushed up against its filigree cage. The lace is soaked, the colour darkened where the cum is leaking out, overflowing, and the pretty patterns twisted and distorted as Arthur grabs and twists. Hard. 

Merlin moans and huffs, gripping Arthur's forearms frantically and utterly careless about propriety. The rough scratch and forceful tugs have him on the edge. His throat is tight with emotion and the pent-up need to just come already.

He can’t give a fuck right now about how his panties will be ruined. 

It's just as well because Arthur chooses that moment to pull at the lace, and the delicate seams give. 

Merlin comes, and sags, panting. The shreds of fabric hang off him. 

Arthur's breath is like a caress by Merlin's ear. "Oops. Looks like I'll need to get you another pair, Merlin. This pair's all wet, you'd better let me get rid of them."

* * *

**44.**

 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con, incest where one party is aware and the other unaware, loss of virginity.

Morgana placed the flat of her hand against Arthur’s door. There had been many nights she’d thought about doing this but something had always kept her in her own bed. Perhaps the romantic notion that one day she’d be his properly, his queen but now that was unimaginable. Uther had kept up the facade for so long, promising her betrothal to Arthur even though he knew all along nothing could ever come of it because Arthur was her _brother_. Not just in name, not just because she had grown up with him. They shared the same Pendragon blood, running hot through their veins. It should revolt her but all that turned her stomach was Uther himself. Knowing what he’d done to them, keeping them apart yet drawing them together; it only made Morgana want Arthur more ferociously.

She opened his door, no lock or guard capable of stopping her. Her white nightdress made her seem like a ghost in the weak light and she couldn’t blame Arthur if at first he thought she was an apparition but when she climbed into his bed and reached out to him, he couldn’t ignore her solidity. 

"Morgana?" he asked sleepily, concern clouding his eyes. "Another nightmare?"

"No, a dream." Morgana smiled at the memory of how, before she had Gwen, he was the one to hold her when she screamed.

"Then why-" he started but Morgana stopped him with the determined look in her eyes.

"We’re all but married anyway, are we not?" she asked, inching the covers down. His hand caught hers just before they slipped away from him entirely.

"But my father-" he tried again and Morgana’s breath halted at the word – he really should say _her_ father as well. _Our_ father.

"He doesn’t have to know," Morgana said smoothly, though she was shaking. "Our little secret?"

Arthur opened his mouth, no doubt a thousand other objections waiting on his tongue that she could brush away easily as dust but lacking the patience, she consumed them all with a kiss before they could be uttered. 

Steering him onto his back, Morgana made a show like she’d done this a hundred times before. Her hands dragged the blankets aside and hiked up her nightdress as she straddled his body, her weight divided between each knee. She could feel him hard beneath her and the barest touch of skin against skin sent a blaze of fire running through her. 

Before she could go further and cross the final line, she found herself spun, back against the soft pillows and Arthur's face above her, blue eyes staring down into her own so intensely she could barely breath. 

She drew her legs up around his hips, untangling her dress once again before placing his hand between them. She was tired of waiting for a day she'd learned may never come. She ached to have him inside her and trembled in frustration. With her nails digging into his skin, she finally won out and felt him breach her maidenhead, the pain all the more satisfying because now, she knew this night could never be denied. Uther would never be able to sell her off to any other husband.

It was like any act that passed between them; fast and rough with heated words whispered when they could catch their breath. It could have been a swordfight or a brawl but it wasn't. She marked him with her nails and teeth as he left bruises and pressure marks with his fingers. The same scrabbling fury she usually felt around him rose in her until she screamed, just to extract it from her body. It reached its pinnacle and broke over her, her skin aflame and her body burning.

When she had cooled again, she found Arthur beside her, spilling his seed on his own skin rather than inside her. It didn’t matter; she had what she needed from him already. When the time came, he would see that even as she shone the light of truth on Uther, she wasn't betraying him. He would stand by her when she secured the throne for them both. But that was not a thought for tonight.

She gathered her dress about her and set her feet on the cold floor. "Remember Arthur, our little secret."

He nodded and let her go; trailing his hand over the warm sheets she'd left.

"My secret," she whispered, closing his door and placing the flat of her hand against it. "For now."

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**45.**

**Pairing:** Hunith/Balinor  
 **Warnings:** n/a

It’s raining when he comes. When he finds her, slipping through the narrow door to her room, it’s clear his oilcloth has not kept him dry.

"You’re late," Hunith says. She’s been expecting him all week, kept craning her head out the windows as she pounded herbs for Gaius, but he’s still managed to startle her. He always does.

"Bit difficult to fly against a storm wind," he replies, water dripping off of every inch of him.

"That’s no excuse, Balinor," she says, but her lips betray her with a smile, and when she opens her arms he comes to her, crushes her close. The rainwater soaks her, though she doesn’t care two figs about that when she can bury her face in his shoulder, feel the press of his lips against her head. She runs her hands down his back, and when he sighs she pulls back, still smiling. "Off," she instructs, plucking at his sleeve. "You’re ruining my dress."

"Is that what we’re calling it?" he says, pursing his lips against his own grin, but he shrugs the oilcloth off obediently. "Seems a bit flimsy," he adds, voice muffled as he pulls his tunic over his head. "Your brother might object if you wore it in public."

"You mean _you’d_ object," she teases. "Gaius would raise his eyebrow, like—yes," she says, laughing as he emerges from the confines of the tunic with his eyebrow cocked outrageously. "Exactly like that." She sits on the cot, stretching back to watch him shuck his trousers. It’s true that the shift she’s wearing is hardly appropriate: it’s thin, and sticks to her skin where it’s wet, smooth over the swell of her belly and her breasts, her nipples dark through the pale fabric. He stares when she stretches her hands over her head, one leg still caught in his trousers, looking charmingly ridiculous in nothing but his bare skin and candlelight, his cock sticking out like a standard.

She slides one foot toward her body and crooks a finger at him, impatient.

He goes. "Gods, you’re beautiful," he breathes, trailing a line of kisses up her throat from her collar until he finds her mouth. His stubble is nearly a beard, and it scratches at her, his cock hot and stiff when she reaches for it. He kisses harder when she strokes, and gods, she wants him. She hardly ever has him—it seems the whole world gets hold of him before she’s allowed close, dragons and kings all with an iron grip that’s meant to leave her in the cold.

They aren’t meant to have this. She’s told herself it doesn’t matter when it’s her bed he seeks in the dark, but the knowledge doubles the ache she carries when he rides away, borne beyond her reach by wind and fire.

She gasps when he slides a hand up her thigh beneath the shift, pushing it up until it bunches at her waist; when he runs his fingers down the crease of her hip, stroking the narrow strip of skin where her leg meets her cunt, she groans.

"Hush," he murmurs, but his touch is sliding toward desperate, his voice uneven. He doesn’t stop her when she whimpers at the brush of his fingers against her slick folds, though she bites her lip against the noise. When he slips a finger into her, she reaches blindly for his shoulder to tug him toward her, demanding more.

"It’s not your _finger_ I’m wanting," she tells him, breathless, and it’s his turn to groan, pulling his hand away to smear the wet across her skin and push his cock into her instead: deliberately slow, utterly unbearable. She tilts her hips to meet him, wrapping her legs around him as he grinds deep, and both of them are too loud now. They catch each other’s moans with open kisses, without finesse, but the rocking squeak of the cot betrays them—it’s not enough to stop them, not now, not when he’s fucking her exactly right, both of them split open by it and spilling against each other. She matches his thrusts, scores his shoulders with her nails, and when he shudders she catches him in a last furious kiss as he shakes apart, rocking up against him until he pulls out, breath ragged, fills her with his fingers instead, pushing as fast and deep as she needs until she falls apart beneath him, the rest of the world vanished for this one stolen moment.

* * *

**46.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur

Merlin tucked his shirt in, diligently checking that it was in all the way around. He slipped on his jacket, slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the house. The morning was cool, and Merlin could feel the garter he was wearing sliding against his skin with every step. He shuddered, just a little, swallowing hard.

His heart was almost beating out his chest - he was convinced someone was going to be able to tell, to see. He’d spent what felt like hours looking in the mirror, trying to find the lines of the underwear, the stockings.

No one could see, but he wasn’t sure how walking affected it. He hoped that no-one would check him out, would be paying attention enough to notice. Especially once he got into the city centre - there were more than enough people there. He could merge into the crowd.

The silk knickers were a soft, almost wet-feeling drag against his half hard cock, higher cut that he was used to, making him feel exposed under the trousers.

He felt fucking divine. He wanted to wear heels, and a corset. Merlin entertained buying a corset and wearing it under a dark shirt next week. The heels he’d never get away with, but maybe at home. 

When Merlin got into the office, he sat at his desk, answering support tickets as always. The occasional feeling of the material of the stockings against his legs, or the elastic of the garter against his thigh was an illicit thrill all day, and he ended up having to go to the bathroom at lunch and have a quick, bitten off wank.

~~~

"Merlin, can you come to my office please," Arthur said, just before home time. Merlin frowned.

"Sure, let me just finish replying to this ticket." 

Arthur nodded and went into his room. Merlin rolled his eyes as he pressed send, wondering what he’d managed to cock up this time. 

Merlin knocked on the door, then entered, closing it behind him. Arthur looked up, and turned his computer screen off. 

"Merlin, thanks for coming." 

Merlin frowned. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did," Arthur said, an inscrutable look on his face. "You’ve been acting strangely today. It took me a while to figure out why, but I think i’ve got it." 

"I don’t know what you mean?" Merlin asked, trying to fight down a blush. 

"Merlin," Arthur got up and walked up to Merlin, standing far too close to Merlin for comfort. Merlin could smell Arthur’s no-doubt ridiculously expensive cologne. Merlin swallowed.

Arthur dropped to the floor, lifting Merlin’s trouser leg before Merlin had a chance to protest. Arthur’s hand was burning hot through the stockings. Merlin’s body couldn’t decide between embarrassment or arousal, but it felt like Merlin was dying either way. 

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, fingers clutching at Merlin’s ankle. "You’re wearing - Christ. Are you-" Arthur sounded breathless. "Christ," he said again, shakily. "You’re going to be the death of me, Merlin."

Merlin looked into Arthur’s flushed face. "I - imagine how I feel." He managed to get out.

"Fuck, Merlin, I want to see," Arthur asked, looking from Merlin’s face to his crotch. Merlin let out a strangled huff whine thing but nodded. Arthur opened Merlin’s trousers, pulling them down. 

"Fuck," Arthur said again, one hand warm in the gap between the stockings and knickers. There was a slightly damp spot where Merlin’s dick was hard against the red silk of the knickers. Arthur leant forward and mouthed at it, and Merlin thought his knees were going to give way.

Arthur slipped the knickers down to just under Merlin’s balls, swallowing Merlin down. Merlin let out a yell, hands gripping at Arthur’s shoulder and hair. 

"Shit, Arthur, shit." 

Arthur sucked at Merlin sloppily, and Merlin watched his spit-shiny cock slide in and out of Arthur’s mouth. He whined and tugged at Arthur’s hair. 

"Coming," He managed to say, before his hips stuttered and he came down Arthur’s throat. 

Arthur had a hand around his own cock, and was coming over Merlin’s trousers before Merlin had a chance to offer to do anything.

Merlin half-collapsed onto the floor, panting and looking at Arthur in disbelief.

"What the fuck?" He asked.

"I can't believe you wore that to work," Arthur said, not answering Merlin’s question at all.

"I was considering a corset next week.

Arthur whined and kissed Merlin, mouth still bitter from Merlin’s come.

"Definitely going to be the death of me."

* * *

**47.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Elena  
 **Warning(s):** no mandatory warnings apply

Gwaine suspects something's wrong when he answers the door and Elena throws herself at him without even saying hello, but he knows for absolute sure when they make it to his bed and he strokes down her belly and she jumps out of her skin.

"Hey," he frowns. "You didn't come over to fuck, did you?"

Elena flops down on top of him, settling between his legs. "I did, I thought it would help-" She makes a vague gesture, then wraps her arms around his calves, squeezing. Gwaine makes a sympathetic face, threading his fingers into her hair. 

"What's up?"

"My cousin Vivian's getting married next month, and my dad's been really predictable about it. Do you know who the last person he set me up with was? _Arthur Pendragon_."

"I am genuinely sorry for you," Gwaine says, "and would also pay good money to see that on tape."

Elena headbutts him. "You don't understand. I know he means well, but the way he's acting like there's a flashing light above my head that says 'GOOD CATCH!!' which is about to go out at any minute _sucks_." Gwaine scratches over her scalp, tugging gently at her hair, and Elena's eyes flutter closed. "'m sorry," she mumbles, "I didn't mean to unload this on you."

" _I'm_ sorry your dad is stuck in the 50s and can't see that you'd make a fucking terrible trophy wife."

"I know, right? If only I had a date to Vivian's wedding, or even a kind, sympathetic friend willing to pretend in order to save me from being thrown at every eligible yet no less uninterested bachelor there."

Gwaine laughs. "I'm not exactly good pretend boyfriend material, Elena."

"I think you are," she says, and Gwaine has to lean down and kiss the earnestness off her face. She links her hands behind his neck, using her hold on him to twist herself around and drop into his lap. "Do the hair thing again, harder."

Gwaine does, and this time she squirms, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. He grinds his hips up reflexively and thinks about putting on a condom, but he's not entirely sure this is heading that way and, anyway, he'd have to move Elena for that. 

"You could've told me before," he says, still moving against her, his dick slip-sliding through the wetness between her thighs. "You're my friend too, you know. I'd be your fake boyfriend any day of the-"

Elena puts her fingers in his mouth. "That's really sweet," she says, "but I think I'll take the fucking over the talking now, if that's okay."

Gwaine grins, already fumbling for a condom. 

*

The day of the wedding dawns bright and terrifying and far, far too early. Gwaine's mostly awake by the time they get to the motorway, though, thanks to the thermos of coffee that Elena brought with her when she picked him up. 

"So," he says, kicking his feet up on the dashboard, "how long have we been dating?"

"Six weeks. That's why I haven't told anyone about it, in case it was premature."

"Sounds reasonable. Who did the asking?"

"Me," Elena says. "No one's going to believe us if we try and play it the other way around. I mean, look at you."

"Look at _you_ ," Gwaine retorts. Elena's eyes are all smoky and she's wearing a long, green dress that flares at her waist with matching Doc Martens, and the thing is, Gwaine thinks she's beautiful in shorts and an old t-shirt, and Gwaine thinks she's beautiful in absolutely nothing at all, but this, right now, is different. She looks nothing like his Elena, which makes the whole lying-about-being-in-love-with-her thing feel a whole lot easier.

"Anyway," Elena continues loftily, "I did kiss you first, so technically I did do the asking."

Gwaine shakes his head, but he's smiling, can't help it. "Yeah, whatever, technically."

An hour later, Elena parks neatly in front of the old converted church Vivian's getting married in. Gwaine inhales deeply, drains the thermos and says, "Right. Let's go."

Elena grabs him by the hand. "Wait. You sure you wanna do this? I only told Vivian I was bringing someone and I understand if you're not comfortable-"

"I am," Gwaine says. "Merlin made me watch a fuck-ton of romantic comedies with him last week. Seriously, I've got this."

Elena grins. "Great," she says, letting go of Gwaine's wrist only long enough to weave their fingers together. " _Now_ let's go."

* * *

**48.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Could be read as possible dub-con because Arthur is stubborn and forces Merlin to take action?

** Good Boy **

"You’ve been hiding something from me."

Arthur’s eyes went impossibly wide as he twisted around to face his lover, looking at him in disbelief.

"If this is about stealing your neckerchief – "

"I still want that back, you know." Merlin snorted, but smiled as he hiked a leg over Arthur’s hip, stroking his foot down the king’s thigh. "But I meant the more… _sensual_ thing." He purred, leaning down to kiss Arthur’s bared neck.

Arthur blushed darkly, trying to turn his face away from Merlin to hide his embarrassment. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I think you do."

Arthur opened his mouth to tell Merlin that he was being ridiculous, when his arms were suddenly yanked over his head by an invisible source, making him gasp in surprise. He looked back at Merlin just in time to see his lover’s eyes fade from shimmering gold to their normal blue. Oh.

"Gotcha." Merlin grinned.

He moved to straddle Arthur’s hips, humming as his hands roamed his king’s upper body, tracing the taunt muscles of his chest and arms. "Beautiful." Merlin murmured, brushing his lips over his lover’s heart. "This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be at the mercy of me and my magic?"

Arthur bit his lip to try and muffle his soft groan, his cheeks stained red as he nodded. Merlin looked triumphant at the admission but quickly schooled his expression back to a gentler smile. 

"Hush, love, I’ve got you…" Merlin whispered, claiming Arthur’s lips in a soft kiss. 

He waited until Arthur started responding before pulling away, shooting him a grin before starting to leave a trail of kisses down his lover’s body. A scrape of teeth at his neck, a tongue flicked across a nipple, a bit of suction by his belly…. Arthur’s soft mewls of pleasure were music to Merlin’s ears. Another whispered spell had the king’s legs open decadently – making Merlin privy to the sight of his lover spread eagle on the bed, held fast and safe by his magic.

"Aren’t you stunning?" He couldn’t help whispering, lying between Arthur’s legs as he smoothed reverent hands up and down his lover’s open thighs. Arthur twitched under his touch, another quiet moan escaping his lips. Merlin grinned. "You’re like a special feast laid out just for me. Shall I taste you?"

He didn’t waste another second. Before Arthur could even think of answering, Merlin licked a long stripe up his lover’s cock, flicking his tongue against the slit once he reached the head. 

" _Merlin_." Arthur breathed, his voice shaky. Merlin just hummed, shifting back down his lover’s body as he nuzzled at the king’s hip.

"My good boy." He whispered fondly, looking up with curious eyes as Arthur shivered in return. "You like that? Boy?"

Arthur’s blush darkened as he shook his head, looking away. _So that’s how it’s going to be_ , Merlin thought, a smirk twisting his lips as he took Arthur’s chin in hand, forcing him, albeit gently, to look at him. 

"Answer me, _boy_."

Arthur let out a shaky moan, unable to hold it back any longer. Merlin grinned, rewarding him with a hard, demanding kiss. "Good boy." He repeated against his lover’s lips.

He reached down to stroke Arthur, tightening the king’s invisible bonds as he did so. Arthur sounded completely wrecked as he tried to arch up into the touch, groaning when his bonds wouldn’t allow it. Merlin kept whispering filthy things into his lover’s ear, stroking him harder and faster whenever Arthur responded with a reaction of his own. "My gorgeous boy, do you like being at my mercy? Do you like my magic holding you down while I do as I please? Look at you, all flushed and desperate, you must be the prettiest boy in the kingdom…."

A few more minutes of this and Arthur was done for. He came with a cry, writhing as much as he could as he painted both their stomachs with white stripes. Merlin stroked him through his orgasm, reaching down with his other hand to take himself in hand, soon adding his own come to the mess between them.

He released Arthur a little while later, wrapping his arms around him in a protective embrace. He trailed kisses over his lover’s neck and cheeks, saving his lips for last.

" _Good boy_."

* * *

**49.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Use of the word 'queer' as an umbrella term for the LGBTQQIAA community, and terrible acronyms.

"No One Knows I'm A Lesbian," her shirt read. His shirt had a giant pink triangle on the front. They were handing out flyers- Qamelot's Queer Qrafters, and the Men Who Like Baking, respectively. Lady Punk's music filled the air, along with rainbow balloons and glitter.

It was Pride Camelot, and the alphabet soup was out in spades.

"What do you call yourselves?" She asked him, gesturing at his flyers. "Mulb?"

He laughed.

"No, mostly we call ourselves Baked Cocksuckers," he said. He grinned, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"That's brilliant! I'm here with Q-cubed," she explained, and stuck out a hand. "Gwen."

"Merlin. Nice to meet you." They shook, then laughed.

"Is this your first Pride?" Gwen asked.

"No," he said, "but I'm new to Camelot. We had a parade back home, but it was nothing like this.'

"It's wild, isn't it," Gwen agreed. "All these people, and the clothing, and they're all so happy. I've been coming for years, but it's still special."

"I'm just glad Gwaine made me come," Merlin said. "That is, I'm glad he made me hand these out," he said, waving the flyers, "or I would never have gotten here on my own."

"Want to make the rounds together?" Gwen asked. "I'll show you how to do it."

"How hard can it be?" said Merlin.

Gwen showed him the ropes- the right amount of flattery, flirting, and bulldog determination required to pass his burden on to the heaving crowd. By the end of it Merlin felt like the flirting god, like he could charm the hair back on to Captain Picard's head.

He told Gwen this and she laughed, clear and delighted with her head thrown back.

"We'll have to keep you away from Mordred," she said. "He loves Star Wars, and I understand there's a but of enmity there. He's been out to kill Arthur ever since he found out his first crush was Captain Kirk. Arthur's, that is. I have a feeling Morded's first crush was- who was it? The scary breathing one, with the big mask."

"Darth Vader?" Merlin asked.

"Him," Gwen said. "Mordred's a bit of an odd duck." Merlin nodded along with her. Liking Star Wars more that Trek was more than enough proof of insanity for him.

Flyers dispersed, they started drifting out of the stalls and toward the back of the concert crowd. Lady Punk had long since finished, but a drag show had started and everyone had crushed in closer to the stage, leaving empty benches and slushie-cups in their wake. Music echoed and pulsed, discordant and loud, but it followed the swing of the day when Gwen sat down next to Merlin- quite close.

"I think I ought to mention that I'm not actually a lesbian," Gwen said into Merlin's ear. Merlin turned to her, fast enough to accidentally clip her nose, and gestured at her chest.

"But your shirt!"

Gwen cradled her face. "Yes, well, that's because I'm bisexual. Morgana thinks it's the funniest joke to put her only non-lesbian friend in this shirt. Because nobody knows I'm a lesbian, because I'm not." Merlin goggled a bit, and Gwen said, "So, you can stop staring at my breasts any time now. Unless, that is, you don't mind me staring at yours, and that would look a bit ridiculous, us both staring at our bosoms instead of making eye contact."

"Right, right," Merlin said. "Well, me too."

"I should stop staring at your breasts?" Gwen asked.

"No! I'm flexible too. Like, probably 75% gay, but I make exceptions." Merlin said with a wave of his hand.

"Interested in making an exception now?" Gwen asked. "We could be subversively heteronormative." She grinned and bit her lip. Merlin gulped.

"Alright," he said, and-

Kissing Gwen was like the first summer fruit- yielding and soft and sweet. They broke apart, and he caught Gwen glancing about, as if for approaching Queer Police.

"More?" Merlin asked, and they did. More and more until their lips were red, and their hair was mussed, and there were most definitely people watching, but neither of them cared.

"Right," Gwen said. "I don't usually do this, but-"

"Me neither," Merlin assured her.

"Mine?"

"Yes."

* * *

**50.**

 **Pairings:** Gwen/Morgana, background Gwen/Lance  
 **Warnings:** Mentions of underage sexuality (young teen discovering porn); conflicting internal/external desires.

Gwen's gathering laundry from Elyan's room when she finds the magazine. It's obviously one the things she's not supposed to touch, but she's fourteen and curious.

Mostly, the magazine does nothing for her. The pictures are dull and the stories too trite. But a few pictures in the back of the magazine, of a big-breasted, slim-hipped woman in white lace and another woman tying her to a bed and running a riding crop over the swell of her ass, send heat straight to her core. 

It makes Gwen gasp and slam the magazine shut, hiding it under her pillow and going back to her chores.

The next day, she slips the magazine back into Elyan's room and tries to forget about it. 

-

"You're so good, Gwen," Morgana says with a grateful smile, when she accepts Gwen's sandwich at lunch. 

"The best of all of us," Arthur says. 

Gwen blushes and ducks her head, pleased and conflicted. Good girls don't like naughty things, and Gwen's the best girl of them all.

-

Lance is gorgeous. Lance is talented. Lance is sweet. Lance is the most perfect person ever.

Lance is incredibly boring.

He treats her with kid gloves, not daring to press too hard, and makes sure she is stretched and ready when they have sex. It's not even sex, it's making love. Lance worships her body.

It should be enough, but it's not.

Lance always treats her gently the morning after, bringing her breakfast and cuddling with her, and she wants to scream, but the look in his eyes stops her cold.

-

Gwen feels like falling to pieces. She's twenty-five and cannot get a satisfying orgasm, cannot stop her boyfriend from hurting, cannot stop her life from spiraling out of control. Mostly, she cannot talk, and it feels like she's suffocating, drowning in air and dying. From what, she's not sure.

-

Morgana is powerful and demanding and sometimes Gwen just stares at her in awe. Gwen wants to lick Morgana's shoes, wants Morgana to tell her what to do, wants Morgana to run soft, supple leather against her skin. 

But she can't want those things. She's nothing like Morgana, too soft and gentle and nice. Too _good_ , and good girls don't like bad things.

-

Lance stares at her, eyes wounded, and Gwen wants to fall apart and break, but she can't, has no right when she's the one breaking up with him.

"It's - I just - there's something missing."

"Is this because of the sex?" Lance asks, blunt in ways he usually isn't. "I can improve, I promise, we can work this out together-"

"No, Lance. It's not you, I- I promise." Gwen wants to laugh, but she doesn't want to hurt him anymore. "It's all me. And one day, you're going to make someone so happy. That person just won't be me. I'm sorry."

-

"Morgana?" Gwen says, stepping into the darkened flat and peering around. Morgana's text was cryptic and Gwen's pulse skyrockets when she doesn't immediately see Morgana. 

"On your knees," Morgana says, from somewhere on Gwen's left, and she turns, startled. Morgana is a darker shadow in a dark room and it takes a moment for Gwen to spot her. Morgana clears her throat, reminding her of the order, and Gwen sinks to her knees without hesitation.

"Crawl to me." 

Gwen crawls, her body obeying on instinct, and the closer she gets to Morgana, the lighter she feels. She stops just in front of Morgana, kneeling there, head down.

Morgana drags her foot along Gwen's torso, using the tip of her heel to nudge Gwen's face up. Her fingers tangle in Gwen's curls, pulling just this side of painful. "Well?" she asks, and Gwen automatically lowers her head, kisses along Morgana's foot, up the side of her ankle. 

It's like something breaks in her, because she presses her forehead to Morgana's shin and cries, painful sobs shaking her body. She doesn't even realize it when Morgana wraps her up and holds her close, rocking her back and forth until Gwen's tears stop. 

Gwen feels ashamed that something so simple, so small, as being ordered to kneel and crawl and kiss Morgana's feet broke her, and she starts to draw back. "I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"You don't, and that's okay," Morgana says, "I'll help you. You're not going anywhere." She runs her hand down Gwen's face, wiping away the tears. "You're going to be _my_ good girl now."

Gwen shudders at Morgana's words, something deep and primal inside her finally falling into place.

* * *

**51.**

 **Pairings:** Merlin/Gwaine  
 **Warnings:** dubconnish situation, though both partners are willing

Gwaine raised his eyebrows as his men dragged the squirming, scowling boy into the clearing. Shabby trousers and a blue tunic covered his skinny limbs. Blue eyes glared under a shock of dark hair and over an odd red neckerchief. "This is the virgin you brought me?"

"Only one we could find, bos-er, my liege," Percival said. "Settle down, you."

The boy kept squirming, though he wasn't making much headway against Percival's dense muscle. "Why do you people keep insisting I'm a virgin? Do I look like a virgin?"

"You don't look unlike a virgin." Gwaine stalked around the boy. "And gods know we haven't found any others, so you'll have to do."

"Do for what?" The boy's arms were still stuck in Percival's iron grip, so his legs sidled away on their own.

"The dragon," Gwaine said, and the boy froze, lower body forming an awkward angle between Percival and the ground.

"Dragon?" the boy scoffed. "There aren't any dragons left in this part of the world."

"Is that right?" Gwaine looked pointedly over his shoulder. Steam rose from the craggy cliffs over the ridge. "Well, there's one here, and if he doesn't get his yearly virgin, he gets a bit cranky with the villagers." 

Instantly the boy started thrashing hard enough to stagger even Percival. His limbs twisted with a gangly grace and his eyes flashed almost gold in the sunlight. Gwaine had the unexpected urge to take the boy in his arms to feel him writhe against his body. This might not turn out so badly after all.

"You're not feeding me to a bloody dragon!" 

"Feed you? Nobody's feeding you to anything, lad," Gwaine snorted. "I'm fucking you , is what I'm doing."

Once again the boy stilled, eyebrows drawing together. "What?"

Gwaine turned toward his second-in-command. "Elyan?"

Elyan cleared his throat, readying his proclaiming voice. "And on the summer solstice, before the hour of the sun's setting, the prince of the land shall deflower a youth untouched on the altar draconis. So shall the resulting magic soothe the beast--or just get him off, we don't really know."

The boy tilted his head. "You're the prince of the land?"

"Gwaine, Prince of Orkney, at your service." Gwaine shrugged modestly . "And you are?"

"Merlin," the boy said slowly, letting his gaze slide up and down Gwaine's body. His clothing might not be princely, but Gwaine had the full regal package underneath. "Virgin of Ealdor, ready to be serviced."

***

"A bit to the left, if you don't mind." Merlin widened his legs and arched his back, spreading himself over the stone altar in front of the cavern. Gwaine's fingers sank a little deeper into his arse, and Merlin bit his lip with a groan. "Oh, that's perfect. That's brilliant. Right there."

Gwaine groaned a little himself. Merlin's arse squeezed around his slick fingers, almost massaging them. Gwaine's cock smacked against his stomach and ached at that thought of how good that arse was going to feel around his flesh. "Are you sure you're a virgin?" 

Merlin lifted his head and grinned down the length of his naked body. "Aren't you supposed to be making sure I'm not?"

An excellent point, fairly made. Gwaine scrambled up onto the altar and hitched Merlin's legs up. Percival stepped up and helpfully poured some more oil over Gwaine's cock right before it pushed into Merlin's tight, slick body. Gwaine had fucked a lot of virgins--he was somewhat of a specialist--but he'd never been encased in a grip like this before. 

"Fuck," he groaned low and loud before he started to pump into Merlin's heat. "Sorry. Usually I'm... finesse... your arse...."

"Don't worry about it." Merlin was panting, hips bouncing on Gwaine's thighs. "Just fuck me a little harder, if you don't mind."

Gwaine didn't mind. As he fucked into Merlin with strong slaps of his hips, a new rush of steam billowed out from the cavern. A glint like a large reptilian eye flashed from the darkness.

Enjoy the show, you scaly pervert, Gwaine thought just as he shot his load into Merlin's welcoming body.

Merlin's own cock was still shooting long spurts of pearly come when an angry roar blasted out of the cavern. Percival and Elyan took off running back down the ravine while Gwaine was still struggling to pull out of Merlin.

"Shit," he said, and it took a second to realize Merlin had said it at the same time.

"Sorry," Merlin went on. "I'm not actually a virgin. I didn't think it actually mattered."

"That's all right. I'm not a prince, either. Now run!" Gwaine grabbed Merlin's hand and they fled, stark naked, just as the indignant dragon's teeth snapped after them.

* * *

**52.**

 **Pairing** : Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning** : none

At first he tilted.imself it was the way the light would catch in his eyes. distracted by the ces in righteous anger, occasionally in disappointment, but mostly the way they would burn bright with devotion and loyalty. Sometimes when he had drank a little more than he should've, he'll indulge that there was love in those eyes that seemed to see him better than anyone else could. That could see who he might become better than himself. 

It was almost too easy to imagine what he would look spread against the Pendragon red. It wasn't as if Arthur hadn't given Merlin his cloak on the last patrol. Watching discreetly as the cloak highlighted the red cheeks and nose from the cold. Something warm tugged behind his armour and the fine woven metal of his chainmail. It had been just the two of them, a few weeks after the midwinter festival m. The woods had been quiet, the snow falling steadily around them, a blanketing white as far as the eye could see. The warm amusement that he felt when Merlin had complain half-heartedly complained about the cold made him pause. That Merlin was a mere manservant was a lie everyone pretended to be true. 

That Merlin was more than a friend was something Arthur could only hold close. Hoping that his eyes wouldn't give him away the next time he's distracted by the arch of Merlin's neck or the pale skin over the delicate curve of his collarbone. The knowing looks his knights give him are both annoyances and blessings. 

Sometimes Arthur wishes he has the courage to press against Merlin, crowd him against his table after he has been helped to undress. Wishes he could capture the bow shaped lips that have been taunting him, challenging him since the day they had met. Sometimes he dreams of Merlin arching against his touch, eyes halflidded, a mix between want and something more. He wakes aching, guilt lacing through his thoughts as he furtively brings himself off thinking of how Merlin would feel around him. It's always too tense, too distracted by the possibility of Merlin coming to wake him up. And always as he falls, hands sticky, covered in sheen of sweat, his heart clenches---aching for what he cannot have.

As he watches Merlin smile wide at a servant girl, Arthur wonders if this feeling, this secret is something he can hold onto. If it's the only way he can have Merlin by his side, then he'll hold it as tightly as he can. Maybe the dreams will be enough.

* * *

**53.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

"Maybe if I wasn’t a virgin, guys would finally notice me," Merlin muses out loud. If it wasn’t for the alcohol coursing through his veins he wouldn’t let the words slip out and now it’s too late to take them back. So he takes another sip of his beer instead. 

"That doesn’t even make sense," Arthur slurs from beside him, turning around and draping himself across Merlin’s chest. Merlin sinks his fingers into Arthur’s hair automatically, massaging his scalp. It’s become a routine of theirs. Get drunk, cuddle, fall asleep.

"I’d know I’m no longer a virgin. I’d be more confident. It totally makes sense," Merlin grumbles and lets his eyes flutter closed as Arthur hums his contentment and hugs Merlin’s body tighter to himself. 

"We could fuck. No strings attached and all that," Arthur mumbles a moment later and drifts off to sleep before Merlin, shocked by the proclamation, comes with a reply.

 

xxx

 

The breakfast next morning is carried on mostly in silence. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but Merlin misses their friendly banter. 

"I meant what I said yesterday," Arthur says after he finishes his bowl of chocolate cereals. 

"Are you sure?" Merlin asks, stuffing the last bit of toast into his mouth, and grabs his empty mug to wash it. 

Arthur stalks across the kitchen, waits for Merlin to finish and turns him around, crowding him against the kitchen counter. 

"Are _you_ sure?" he asks, looking Merlin straight in the eyes. 

Merlin nods, gripping the edge of the counter. "How do we..?"

"Kissing. That’s a good way to start, isn’t it?"

Merlin’s gaze flicks to Arthur’s lips and back up. His heart is beating wild and his fingers are close to cramping with the grip he has on the desk. 

"We don’t have to," Arthur says, leaning away slightly.

"No! I mean, yes!" Merlin blurts out, feeling a flush spreading over his cheeks. "Let’s kiss. Should I… uh…"

Arthur interrupts him by pressing his lips to Merlin’s, snaking his arms around Merlin’s waist. The new and familiar sensations are mixing together, making Merlin’s head swim. Or maybe it’s because he forgot to breathe. He follows Arthur’s lead, tilting his head slightly and letting him in, and settles his hands on Arthur’s sides. 

Arthur nips at his bottom lip teasingly, sliding his hands down to Merlin’s buttocks and squeezing.

"Come on," he whispers, pulls away and drags Merlin, dazed and overwhelmed, towards his bedroom. 

They strip down to their underwear and climb on the bed. Merlin’s the one to initiate the kiss this time, but it’s Arthur who flips him on his back and trails his lips down his neck, over his chest, sucking briefly at each one of Merlin’s nipples before moving lower. He stops above Merlin’s belly button, his fingers playing with the hem of Merlin’s briefs. His breath is warm, yet it raises goosebumps on Merlin’s belly. He looks up at Merlin for a permission to continue. 

Merlin resists the urge to cover himself when he finally lies bare beneath Arthur’s gaze. Arthur smiles at him and strips his own briefs, tossing them on the floor. 

"We’ll need stuff," Merlin says and is about to reach into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube and condoms they all got during the orientation week at uni, but Arthur shakes his head and lies down next to Merlin, propping himself on his elbow.

"We have all night," he says, caressing Merlin’s cheek and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

It’s Merlin’s dream coming true. Except it isn’t. 

Arthur might look at him as if he’s something precious, caress him and take care of him, but it’s not real. It might feel better than Merlin has ever imagined, but it’s not right. His throat constricts as a wall of emotions slams through him all at once. Longing, despair, love. 

"I can’t," he gasps out, curling on his side, eyes scrunched shut. The first tear drops onto the mattress. "I’m sorry…"

"Shh, it’s okay."

He’s covered by a blanket a moment later, Arthur tucking it around him with the same gentle care that brought on Merlin’s breakdown. It physically hurts to keep his feelings locked inside. 

"Should I go?" Arthur asks.

"I lied before," Merlin blurts out. "I can’t do casual. Not with you. I want more."

The silence is heavy, but Merlin feels lighter, his secret out in the open. He waits for Arthur to leave.

Except he doesn’t.

He slides under the blanket, spooning Merlin from behind, and whispers, "I’m already yours."

* * *

**54.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

The shadows and streaks of candlelight hide nothing as Merlin sheds layers, padding towards Arthur. Naked as the day he was born, he's beautiful and he's a mystery. Arthur watches him from the bed and feels like a man in a foreign land, bewitched and bewildered and beguiled.

Merlin came into Arthur's life as a manservant but he quickly altered his job description - becoming friend, confidant, lover, so fast that Arthur has been almost left gasping, struggling to keep up. All he knows is he loves this fey, beautiful boy beyond all reason, and that he doesn't understand it at all.

'Stop thinking so hard,' Merlin orders him, sliding onto the rumpled bedspread. 'Do something instead.' His sly smile leaves no illusions as to what sort of actions he thinks Arthur should take.

Arthur reaches out and reels him in by a handful of his hair, because he looks good enough to eat. They kiss, Merlin squirming and shivering, and Arthur slowly pulls him until they are lying together side by side and Arthur can touch all that smooth ivory skin. But Merlin won't stay where he's put.

'Be still,' Arthur tells him, and rolls up onto his elbows and knees to straddle Merlin's body. 'Or so help me -'

'You'll punish me?' Merlin suggests. His eyes sparkle. Arthur has been used to command since he could speak - he knows how to give an order, and yes, he knows how to punish as well, and yet Merlin seems not to see or feel the threat of Arthur at all.

Arthur smacks him on the scant meat of his hip, and Merlin moans full-bloodedly, rocking his hips, his hard and leaking cock, into Arthur's. 'I'll take it,' Merlin says in a rush. 'Punish me. Punish me all you want.'

His thighs are flat, open wide upon the bed and they cradle Arthur perfectly in their splay. His eyes, though, are gold-lit from the candlelight, hungry, starving for something Arthur can't quite read.

'Do you want me to hurt you?' Arthur asks, sitting back on his haunches to grope for salve, because Merlin may want pain, perhaps, but there are some ways Arthur will refuse to give it to him. He slicks his fingers.

'I want whatever you think I deserve,' Merlin breathes as Arthur pushes into him. 'I'll take it, Arthur. I'll take anything for you.' He writhes on Arthur's hand, one finger not enough, claws the sheets til he gets two, breathes saw-whet rough until Arthur sinks a third, a fourth home, and by the time Arthur kneels up to push his cock into that perfect clinging heat Merlin is a puddle of pleading and bitten lips.

'Yes, yes,' Merlin huffs into Arthur's skin as Arthur curls over him, as if he can find truth in Merlin's body and touch this time when he never has before.' 'God, Arthur. Arthur -'

It never lasts. Arthur is already at the end of his rope, wanting to sink into the velvet clinging mystery of Merlin's body and never leave. And when he comes, Merlin comes too, clenching, milking spurt after spurt of seed from Arthur as if his hole is starved for it. He comes untouched, comes like his pleasure is dependant only on Arthur's. And Arthur will own to being a selfish man but even so, that takes his breath away.

He eases out of Merlin's fucked-sloppy body and pulls him close. He knows there is something Merlin isn't telling him, something that hurts Merlin to hide, makes him crave Arthur's hand to his skin.

Arthur almost hopes he never finds out what it is.

* * *

**55.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Gwen/Morgana, brief Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** Dubcon due to a life-threatening situation. Also shameless Disney crossover.

The sound of a small, princely fist tapping the oaken door echoed through the empty halls.

"Morgana?" Arthur called. "Do you want to practice swordplay?"

No answer.

"Come _on_ ," he huffed. "Let’s go and _play_."

Another silence.

"I never see you anymore," complained Arthur. "Come out the door! It’s like you’ve—"

"Go _away_ Arthur!"

Morgana’s voice was loud, almost shrill. Arthur took a step back. "Okay, bye…."

—

Arthur knocked on the door for thirteen years. Every time, he left trying to remember what had happened between them, and every time, Morgana thought of her brother’s crumpled body and tried to forget.

—

"I said, _enough!_ "

The nearest guests were flung back across the ballroom by a wave of black smoke, and Camelot gasped. Arthur looked shocked; his "betrothed", Gwen, who had been blushing and stammering just a moment ago, now looked almost horrorstruck.

"…Morgana?" asked Arthur.

Her secret was out. Morgana fled.

—

"Carrots."

Arthur looked at the man in the shop like he’d gone mad. "Excuse me?"

"Behind you."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, and I don’t really care to find out," the dark-haired man replied, grabbing the carrots anyway. Then he gestured outside, where it still looked like midnight rather than midday. "I have bigger things to worry about."

"No, you don’t," Arthur said. "I am the Prince of Camelot. If you give me your horse, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that."

The man just laughed, blue eyes gleaming. "Sorry, I’ll have to decline your _generous_ offer, _my lord._ "

"It wasn’t an offer."

"It’s _my_ horse—"

"I’m the _prince_ —"

"Clotpole, more like—"

And then the shopkeeper threw them out.

—

In the end, they had to make their peace. Arthur had gold, and Merlin had a horse. It was a partnership of necessity.

And of course they had to sit that closely. The saddle wasn’t big enough for two.

—

"You’re not safe here!" Morgana cried, the dark smoke swirling around her.

Arthur stepped forward. "We can fix this, Morgana!"

"No!"

"We can end the night—"

"I _can’t!_ "

A sudden burst of darkness shot out in all directions, throwing Arthur back against the wall. He crumpled, and Morgana was eight again, watching her brother fall.

"What power do you have to stop this night? To stop _me?_ " she asked even as Merlin rushed in and the shadowbeast began to form behind her. "You both should go. Now."

—

"An act of true love?" Merlin asked the troll elder.

"I think what Gaius means," Arthur offered delicately, "is that in order to cure me of Morgana’s magic, Gwen and I have to… consummate our marriage."

"Premaritally?" Merlin said, skeptical. "I think that’s just called sex."

—

"Um," said Gwen, her lips hovering above Arthur’s before she leaned away. "I don’t think I’m your true love."

He stared at her, alarmed. "Why? What happened?"

"I like you a lot," she rushed, "but I’ve spent a lot of time talking with your sister since she was captured, and I realized—"

"My _sister?_ "

"I love her? I think?"

"Oh."

There was a long pause.

"Are you sure there isn’t someone else?" she asked eventually. "Someone who would do anything for you? Risk her life—or… his life?"

Arthur looked out the window.

"Maybe…."

"Well, I’ll go find Morgana," she said. "You go find your true love."

—

"What’s happened? Why didn’t it work?" Merlin asked, his voice panicked.

"She loves my sister!" he called out as he ran closer.

" _What?_ How—"

Arthur cut him off with a harsh kiss.

When he pulled away, Merlin looked beyond startled. "You think— _Me?_ "

"Probably."

"But… _here?_ "

"Yes."

" _Now?_

" _Yes!_ I really don’t have time for this."

"…Okay, then."

"That’s a yes?"

"Yes."

Arthur expected them to kiss again, maybe, or embrace. Instead, Merlin dropped to his knees.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, alarmed.

Merlin unbuckled Arthur’s belt and then muttered dryly, "An act of true love."

When Merlin’s mouth found Arthur’s cock, everything became a jumble of _hot_ and _wet_ and _do that again _. He tangled his fingers in Merlin’s dark hair, whispered his name, gasped. It was still dark, so dark, but Merlin felt like light, and the closer Merlin brought him to the edge, the brighter Arthur felt. When he came, Arthur's darkness had gone, and the night had receded.__

__"Did Gwen find Morgana? The sun’s back," Merlin said a moment later, panting._ _

__Arthur looked out over the castle walls. "I think so," he replied. "The night’s over."_ _

__And so it was that sex saved Camelot._ _

____

* * *

**56.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana slight Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** infidelity, slight intoxication

Guinevere Smith was indeed dating super-hot business man Arthur Pendragon and was not indeed attracted, at all, to his half-sister, Morgana. 

At least, that's what Gwen was repeating to herself almost daily as of late. Morgana was driving Gwen mad with her obvious flirtations. The second Arthur would walk out of rooms, Morgana would be clinging to her side, laughing with her and giving her light touches. It was now to the point that every time Gwen even saw Morgana she would get flustered. She hoped that Arthur just thought it was nervousness to be around such an important part of his life but Gwen knew it was really her identity as a straight woman going down the drain. 

This particular morning, as Gwen was beginning work in her cubicle, Morgana popped by wearing a pencil skirt and blouse that was absolutely beautiful on her. Gwen found herself holding back a dreamy sigh like a stupid schoolgirl. 

"Hello there my favorite little worker bee." She smiled, leaning over to tousle Gwen's hair. Gwen's eyes went wide and she felt the heat rise on her cheeks. 

"You know, my dear, I believe there is a desperate need for a little girl time. How about me and you hang out at my place tonight?" Morgana beamed. 

Gwen knew this was a bad idea but she didn't have anything planned tonight so she didn't have an excuse to get out of it. 

"Of course Morgana! I'll be there! Anything I can do to get closer to Arthur's family!" Gwen hoped that throwing Arthur's name into her reasoning would remind Morgana, and herself, of her relationship status.  
"Oh great! Be at my place around seven okay, love?" Morgana left Gwen's cubicle with a wink and a blowed kiss. 

"Oh. Fuck." Gwen whispered to herself, her heart fluttering. She had never been alone with Morgana for an extended period of time. There was really no telling what the "girl time" would do to her inhibitions. 

* 

Gwen sighed. She had almost hoped Arthur would have been a little selfish tonight and asked her to stay in but, when she told him of Morgana's plan, he was ecstatic that they were "bonding." 

So here she was at Morgana's door with butterflies in her stomach. She rang the doorbell and was surprised when Morgana opened the door almost instantly. 

"Hello there! Come in!" She offered a glass of wine to Gwen and moved towards the living room. 

"Thank you for inviting me over Morgana." Gwen smiled as she accepted the glass and sat down on the other side of the couch than where Morgana was sitting. 

The night moved on to idle chatter and slowly, as the wine supply depleted, Gwen had moved closer to Morgana. She must have noticed at the same time Gwen did because the chatter got quiet and Morgana laid a hand on Gwen's thigh. 

"Guinevere, I must admit that I had some ulterior motives for getting you here," Morgana said slowly, putting her empty glass down. 

"You see, I know you must have noticed the way I look at you and," she blushed, "I've, um, seen the way you look at me." 

Gwen's eyes widened and she tried to think of something, anything, to get herself out of this situation but she halted when Morgana began sliding her hand up her thigh. 

"Gwen, please tell me you want this too." Gwen let out a tiny gasp. 

Of course she wanted this too. Gwen had had some sort of unrelenting attraction to Morgana from day one but this would be _cheating_. Gwen would be cheating on _Arthur_. 

"I-I'm sorry Morgana but I can't...he's your brother...oh gosh I wish I could," Gwen stammered out but now that Morgana's flirtation's had been confirmed it only made Gwen want her more. 

"Then follow your heart and damn the consequences. If you want me, you can have me." She slowly leaned over into Gwen's space and kissed her lips. 

"Just tell me to stop and I will, Gwen," Morgana whispered, uncertainly pulling back from the kiss. Gwen kissed the uncertainty off of Morgana's face. 

Morgana smiled and pushed Gwen down onto the couch, climbing on top of her, kissing her eyes, nose, and mouth. Gwen giggled and wrapped her legs around Morgana's hips, pulling her down so they would have no space left between them. 

Morgana reached to the top of Gwen's thigh, under her skirt, and began slowly moving to rub on her panties. Gwen blushed and arched her back slightly. Her body wanted this, she wanted this, but her mind would not be quiet with the guilt and the wrongness of it all. She would have to tell Arthur. He could, and probably _would_ , have her fired. 

She couldn't turn the rambling of her mind off but, when Morgana's fingers made it passed her panties, Gwen made the executive decision to deal with the consequences in the morning.

* * *

**57.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** infidelity 

Arthur loosens his tie, places his jacket and shirt carefully on the back of a chair, takes off his watch, and slips out of his shoes. Merlin’s watching him in silence, sitting cross-legged on the king-sized bed of this nondescript, beige hotel room. His orange rucksack is leaning against the wall. Condoms and lube are fanned across the bedside table. They don’t have much time today—only an hour or so before Arthur has to be back home.

Arthur extracts his phone from his trousers and places it on the desk; he leaves it on, just in case Gwen might call. Then he climbs on the bed and curls his hand around Merlin’s neck, drawing him in. They kiss once, twice, before Arthur settles his forehead against Merlin’s.

"I missed you," he says.

"Missed you, too."

Merlin lies back on the bed, pulling Arthur over him. Arthur tugs on Merlin’s T-shirt until they’re skin to skin from the waist up, while their cocks rub against each other through the fabric of their trousers.

Arthur loves the anticipation best—these moments just before they fuck, when they’re together and he can feel Merlin’s chest rising and falling beneath him in ragged breaths. When there’s still so much to look forward to.

He opens Merlin’s jeans, one button after another, and slides his hand inside Merlin’s briefs, relishing the silky-smooth skin of Merlin’s cock. He lets his fingers dive deeper and feels a thrill run down his spine when Merlin parts his legs for him with a sweet whimper. He’s happy to find Merlin’s hole still dry and clenched tight. Merlin could have prepared himself beforehand, but it’s so much better like this, when Arthur can drive Merlin crazy with lubed fingers or the flat of his tongue pressed to Merlin’s furl, until Merlin gives in and begs, "Just fuck me now. Fuck me, please."

The rest of their clothes come off in a hurry and they’re hugging, Merlin murmuring, "I wish, I wish…" And Arthur knows what Merlin wants because he wants it too. But it’s impossible because Arthur has Gwen, and the baby, and a position to uphold. And truth be told, he loves his life just as much as he loves Merlin. So for now, Merlin is Arthur’s dirty secret on Tuesdays, sometimes Fridays.

They cherish it, Arthur grinding against Merlin’s body and Merlin leaning back, his arms outstretched so Arthur can run his palms up and down Merlin’s sides and bury his fingers in the intimate softness of Merlin’s armpits.

Arthur will have flashbacks of it later. When he’s putting his son to bed, or placing clean dishes in the cupboard, or running a meeting at work, he’ll have flashbacks of Merlin’s body arched beneath his, his neck exposed, his thick cock swinging heavily to the rhythm of Arthur’s thrusts. He’ll remember pale slivers of skin that have not been properly shaved, and Merlin shifting so Arthur can push deeper until he’s locked inside Merlin’s tight heat.

Those sudden memories, unwelcome and fierce, leave Arthur swallowing on the thick saliva that pools in his mouth, cheeks heated like after serious exertion. He rubs his hand against his chest. "You all right, mate?" his co-workers ask. And he nods and clears his throat. "Yes, sorry, carry on," he says.

For the goodbye he fucks Merlin hard with Merlin on all fours on the bed, Arthur standing behind him, thrusting as deeply as he can. When he pulls out he leaves a long trail of come slowly trickling down Merlin’s thighs where the condom slipped off. Merlin lies there panting, too done in to climb off the bed properly.

Arthur washes himself quickly in the shower; he was supposed to go to the gym this afternoon, so it won’t be suspicious if his hair’s still damp. He emerges to find Merlin naked on the bed, still flushed from earlier, leaning against the headboard with his legs bent loosely. He’s tapping on his phone, avoiding Arthur's gaze while Arthur gets dressed.

Arthur leans down and kisses Merlin on the cheek. "I'll see you Tuesday?" It's a question, although they both know Merlin will agree. And yes, Arthur should end it. He should be fair to Merlin, to Gwen, to himself… but he can't—he just can't imagine his life without Merlin’s blue eyes and throaty laugh, or this feeling when they’re joined together, Merlin gasping out "Arthur" when he comes.

"Tuesday," Merlin says, nodding. And if his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, Arthur pretends not to notice.

* * *

**58.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warnings:** Age difference (Mordred is 19, Arthur and Merlin are in their late 20s), some elements may be interpreted as dub-con due to Mordred’s embarrassment, daddy kink, implied dom/sub

"I can’t help but wonder," Arthur says in-between kisses on Mordred’s cock as if they’ve been having a discussion all this time, "if Merlin’s your master, what am I?"

Merlin raises his eyebrows. For a second he doubts that Mordred even has an answer, but then the boy bites his lip and looks away as if he’s been fearing this question. Merlin and Arthur exchange a glance and perk up, causing Mordred to fidget and make an even greater effort to avoid their gazes.

"Mordred?" Merlin says and caresses the cheek that’s turned to him. Mordred shivers and moans and Merlin turns to Arthur to see his forearm moving, his fingers still fucking Mordred. For a moment, Merlin wonders if he should tell him to stop, but then Mordred moans again and starts rocking on Arthur’s hand. Arthur shrugs and nods towards the boy. "Mordred."

Mordred just growls and turns to Merlin. He pulls him down and Merlin tilts his head to the side as their lips meet and Mordred moans in his mouth, digs his fingers in Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin just moans in reply and lets his tongue caress Mordred’s bottom lip. They break apart when Mordred lets out a gasp and jerks away from Merlin, pumps his hips up a couple of times. The two of them look at Arthur, who’s wearing an entirely too unconvincing expression of innocence.

"Waiting for an answer here," he says. Mordred whines and makes an attempt to hide his face from Arthur by burying it in Merlin’s neck.

"It’s okay," he shushes Mordred and rubs his side in what he hopes is a comforting manner. He’s curious, though. What on earth could the boy find more embarrassing than accidentally calling his boyfriend (one of his boyfriends?) ‘master’, as he’d done to Merlin earlier? "You can tell us, you know you can."

Mordred sighs and gently pushes him away to meet Arthur’s gaze. "Merlin’s my master. And you’re my…"

"Yes?" Arthur prompts.

"You’re my Daddy," Mordred breathes, almost choking on the word.

Merlin gasps. He looks at Arthur, whose hand has finally stopped moving, fingers buried inside of Mordred. The three of them are very still for a minute before Mordred gulps audibly and tries to disentangle himself from the other two bodies. He’s stopped by Arthur’s fingers pulling out and thrusting back in. 

"Yeah?" Arthur says, voice hoarse. He fucks his fingers into Mordred harder and Mordred gasps, quivers. "Call me it." 

Mordred whines.

"Say it," Arthur demands. 

Mordred gasps. "Daddy," he moans and it’s quite possibly the most arousing thing Merlin has ever witnessed. He groans and tries to tell Mordred as much, but ends up too distracted by Arthur’s stunned expression. He knows that fire in Arthur’s eyes too well, even if he hasn’t seen it in a while. It’s always alight when they discover something... or someone new. Merlin suppresses a shiver and finally looks down at Mordred again. 

"Come on, baby," he says, helping Mordred rise and settle on his hands and knees. Arthur, having removed his fingers from inside Mordred, is wildly looking around. Merlin takes a condom from the nightstand and throws it in his direction. Arthur just nods, doesn’t even look at him.

As he hears the package tear, the boy pushes back, impatient; he bites his lip as he looks up at Merlin. 

"Just a moment," Merlin assures him and sure enough, Arthur’s already coating his cock in lube. He drops the bottle to the side and shuffles on his knees, spreads Mordred’s legs to get closer.

Mordred moans and buries his face in Merlin’s middle when Arthur pushes inside of him. He kisses and sucks at Merlin’s skin and Merlin rises to his knees, offers his cock instead. Mordred moans gratefully, swallows it in, but Merlin frowns as he sees Arthur’s slowed his movements down, careful not to have the boy choke on Merlin’s cock.

Merlin pulls away and Mordred whines, chases his cock with his lips. Merlin shushes him and makes him look up with two fingers beneath Mordred’s chin.

"You want Daddy to fuck you harder?" He asks. Mordred nods as both him and Arthur moan. Merlin smiles at them and pushes Mordred’s soft curls out of his eyes. "Then fuck," he tells Arthur.

Minutes later, as Mordred collapses, whimpers for his Daddy to let him come, Merlin decides that - should the boy be willing - Arthur and him would strip him of the very last of his secrets.

* * *

**59.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** shameless rutting, inspiration drawn from The Sandlot

It had been the most daring thing Merlin had ever done. Technically, it wasn’t even his fault. Will was completely the one to blame. After all, what was the point of dragging Merlin along to the pool when he couldn’t swim a single stroke, no matter how hot the day was.

In hindsight, the heat probably had a lot to do with the decision Merlin had made after staring at the extremely fit lifeguard for far too long.

His exact words had been, "Will. I’m still a virgin, and I can’t take it anymore."

He had no idea if Will even heard him, because with that declaration, he hauled himself out of the pool, marched over to the diving board, and jumped right into the deep end.

Merlin hadn’t dared breathe again until the sounds of the world came rushing back to his ears and even then he continued to be a dead weight, letting nothing rouse him, not even Will’s panicked screams of, " _Merlin, you stupid cow, you have your whole life – no,_ you _calm down! I am calm!_ "

And then, it finally happened. Rough, thick fingers pinched his nose shut and a pair of lips sealed over his. Without further ado, Merlin flailed to life, wrapping his arms around muscular shoulders and clinging for dear life as he opened his mouth wide and presented his tongue up for tango.

The tango became more of a tongue trying to shove his tongue back into his own mouth, but it still totally counted up until the lifeguard had enough sense to rear back and start yelling at him.

Merlin had no idea what the lifeguard had said. He had been too busy beaming happily over the fact that he was the same one Merlin had been staring at all day.

The same one who was now lecturing Merlin from behind the pool maintenance shed. His name, it turned out, was Arthur.

"Look, all I’m saying is you can’t go lying about your ability to swim just to get my attention. At our age, you should be more responsible in your – what are you doing?"

Merlin looked up from his kneeled position, hands on Arthur’s thighs. "Can I please give you a blowjob?"

Arthur’s jaw dropped, and for a moment it seemed like his brain had short-circuited. Then he snapped to his senses.

"No. If you give head anything like you kiss, absolutely not." He hauled Merlin to his feet.

"It was my first time with tongue!" Merlin argued. 

"Your first—? Jesus." Arthur shook his head. "Are you younger than you look?"

"I’m seventeen!" _And pathetic_. Merlin gritted his teeth against the silent addition.

"Alright." A muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitched, and he seemed to reach a decision. "If I give you some pointers, do you promise to never do that again?"

Merlin nodded eagerly and did his best not to grin as Arthur leaned forward and cupped his face.

There was absolutely nothing about this kiss that didn’t turn Merlin on. 

The soft press of lips. The tongue gently teasing him with licks until he granted it access. The firm guidance on how to move sensually in a way that connected Merlin’s tongue directly to his dick. 

Merlin’s knees were weakening at an alarming rate, and he let out a desperate moan, unsure of what to do. 

Luckily, Arthur’s experience went beyond being an expert swimmer and kisser, and in a shift of bodies and hips, Merlin found himself pinned to the wall with Arthur’s leg between his.

"Oh God— Sorry." Hands clinging to Arthur’s waist, Merlin was unable to stop himself from grinding down.

"No, no, that’s perfect," Arthur soothed, licking a trail up from Merlin’s jaw to his ear. "You need to get it out of your system." 

And with that, Merlin felt the wet pressure of Arthur’s tongue probing into his ear and all sense of coherency left him.

All he could focus on was the mind-numbing pleasure between his legs, and the way every bit of pressure from the tongue in his ear to the kneading of his backside only fueled it along but was never enough. His rutting was completely animalistic and shameless, and distantly, he was aware of Arthur hoisting his leg up higher, pinning him harder, giving him less room to move, and yet still pressing him in all the right places until ecstasy had Merlin flying apart at the seams.

His body jerked and twitched, unused to so much touch on so many different spots during orgasm, but rather than draw back, Merlin pushed into all of them, groaning as they helped milk him dry.

For a long time, neither of them moved, and Merlin figured it was because Arthur could still feel his spent cock twitching valiantly against his thigh from time to time.

Chest heaving and fingertips feeling slightly numb, Merlin reached a decision.

"Please be my sex tutor," he mumbled out, embarrassed at his unexpected lack of proper coherency.

He grinned dopily as Arthur threw his head back and laughed.

"I’ll think about it," was the promise.

* * *

**60.**

**Pairing(s): Merlin/Morgana**  
 **Warning(s): dubcon**

Merlin yelped in surprise when he was pulled into a dark alcove and promptly dropped the basket of Arthur's laundry he was carrying. "What's going on?" he questioned the dark figure. 

"I've decided to keep you," Morgana responded. 

"Princess, I'm Arthur's manservant," Merlin replied. "I don't think it's negotiable." 

"You can keep being Arthur's manservant, Merlin. I have my own maidservants, after all. No, I'm keeping you for something else," Morgana said and then Morgana pushed him against the back wall of the small alcove. 

Morgana admired his restraint. He wasn't allowed to touch her and he kept his hands to himself as best he could while Morgana crowded against him. 

"Morgana, what are you doing?" Merlin questioned. 

"Shut up and enjoy it, Merlin." Morgana responded and then her lips were on Merlin's, pressing softly at first and then more firmly as Merlin didn't respond. 

"It's okay, Merlin. I can keep a secret," Morgana whispered in his ear. "No one has to know," Morgana said as she tugged on Merlin's hand and placed it against her firm breast. 

Merlin had no time to respond before Morgana's lips were on him again, her tongue running along between Merlin's lips and seeking entrance. Morgana smiled when Merlin titled his head down slightly and parted his lips. She pushed her tongue against Merlin's quickly and drew away, hoping Merlin would get the hint and kiss her back. She sighed in disappointment when he didn't.

"You're shaking like a rabbit, Merlin. I'm not going to bite you. No, that's a lie. I'm probably going to bite you," Morgana said and she kissed Merlin's neck and then bit it slightly. "You'll like it, though," Morgana replied. 

Morgana felt Merlin swallow nervously, the vibrations of his vocal cords tickling her lips as he spoke and tentatively placed his hands on her hips. 

"What do you want, princess?" he asked. Morgana smirked. 

"Get on your knees, Merlin." She replied. 

Merlin did as he was told and looked up at Morgana. Morgana felt a rush go through her at the outline of Merlin on his knees before her. She hiked up her dress until she revealed the soft flesh of her cunt and spread her legs. She used her free hand to bring Merlin's head closer. 

"Lick me, Merlin," she demanded. Morgana gasped as Merlin's hot tongue hesitantly licked at her lips. "Part my lips with your fingers, Merlin. It wouldn't do to get caught here," Morgana reminded. 

"Oh god," Merlin cursed but he did as he was told and used his fingers to part Morgana's lips and leaned in to lick between them. 

"Ah!" Morgana exclaimed when Merlin's tongue trailed over her clit. "Right there, Merlin. Focus your attentions there," she begged. Merlin was a fast learner and Morgana was extremely grateful for this fact as Merlin's tongue relentlessly ran over her clit. 

"Fuck, Merlin. Feel how wet I am for you," she grabbed Merlin's wrist and brought his hand down to her hole. She pressed his fingers against it slightly, letting Merlin feel the slickness there and her hips bucked involuntarily against his hand. 

"Fuck me with one of your fingers, Merlin," she demanded. Merlin made to with draw his face and Morgana sighed in disapproval. "No, Merlin. Keep your mouth where it is while you do it," she explained. 

Merlin pursed his lips against Morgana's clit and slid one of his fingers inside her. 

"Yeah, Merlin. Slide it in and out while you lick me," she requested, happy when Merlin complied. Merlin unexpectedly started sucking on Morgana's clit and she had to let go of her dress to muffle the scream of orgasm with her hand.

Morgana placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder for support, her knees still weak from the after shocks as Merlin kept licking and fucking her through it.

"That's enough, Merlin," she said softly. "Get up," she commanded.

Morgana kissed him again and pressed her hand against Merlin's hard cock but didn't move it.

"Please," Merlin begged and Morgana thought she could get used to hearing Merlin beg. She rubbed at him through his pants until Merlin was gasping. She kissed his breath away and felt his cock jerk. Morgana smirked when it only took a few minutes. They were going to have to work on his stamina.

"Yes, I'm definitely keeping you," Morgana said. She righted her dress and walked out of the alcove. "Better get cleaned up, Merlin. Wouldn't want you to walk around with that stain all day."

* * *

**61.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana/Arthur, Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Incest

The Emery twins were stretching Arthur's sanity to breaking point. He glared at them across the ballroom, ignoring the chatter that surrounded him.

They stood close together, they always did, and leaned in, exchanging veiled smiles. They rarely spoke, even to each other, but often they held each other's gaze for unusually long periods, long enough to make Arthur squirm with discomfort and have to look away. _'Self sufficient'_ , people called them, _'Shy'_ even. And _'Poor dears, what a terrible tragedy, at least they still have each other?'_

If it was uncomfortable for Arthur watching them stare into their twin's eyes that was nothing compared to having them turn those eyes on him. They were both blue, hers pale and icy, his a rich lapis, and when they looked at him Arthur felt scrutinised, dissected and laid bare.

Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur now. Arthur knew they were aware of his obsession, whenever they were near he couldn't take his eyes off them. Morgana looked at him with disdain and a slight curl of her red lip. Merlin looked at him with curiosity and amusement though. He raised his champagne flute and nodded to Arthur, cocking his head to the side. Arthur was blushing furiously as he grabbed a glass from a passing tray and hurried to speak to an old family acquaintance.

* * *

Arthur was crouching in the shrubbery when Merlin stepped out of his drawing room and onto the terrace to vape. He sucked in deeply and blew out a cloud of steam, turning directly to where Arthur hid.

"It's alright," he spoke quietly but his deep voice carried, "You may as well come out."

For a moment Arthur froze but eventually he wobbled out, dusting off his trousers, and ascended the low steps to where Merlin stood, haloed by the light from the house. He wore the remains of his dinner suit, the jacket discarded but his black tie still hanging loosely. Morgana came out to join him in just a cream silk slip which buckled over her tight nipples and skimmed her thighs, and slid a slender arm around her brother's waist.

"So," she said, voice clear and sharp, "We have a wager going, Merlin thinks you're stalking us 'cause you fancy one, or both, of us, I think you're looking to make a name for yourself on the gossip webs. Which is it?"

Arthur choked and spluttered a bit. "I'm not... Neither... I'm not _stalking_ either of... And I don't work for the..." He trailed off, he had been caught skulking in the bushes, it didn't look good.

"Sex or secrets," Merlin was smirking, and licked his full lips deliberately. "Everybody's after one or the other."

Arthur felt his trousers tighten and knew there was no point now in playing coy. He stepped forward til he could smell the menthol on Merlin's breath. He looked between them, silently asking them both for permission, and said with as much bravado as he could muster "Whatever you're offering, I find you breathtaking." 

The twins exchanged a long look, Merlin quirked his eyebrow and Morgana shrugged and rolled her eyes, then she lifted herself up on her tiptoes and sucked in Merlin's lower lip, dragging it through her teeth. He bent to kiss her back and she wrapped her spare hand around Arthur's neck, pulling him in and transferring her lips to his, when she had tasted him thoroughly she guided his head towards Merlin, and Arthur found himself drawn in and drowning in velvet lips and skin.

They passed him back and forth as they led him into the house and up to their shared bedroom, which was airy and draped with silks. Merlin took him from behind and Morgana took him from the front and they kissed each other over his shoulder as they ground him to pulp between the steady rhythm of their hips.

* * *

**62.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Mordred, Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** post-Camlann, resurrection, post-apocalypse, reincarnation, memory loss, dubious consent, major character death, major character death.

The modern age, Arthur learns, is strange, is cold. Colder than the winters he remembered, and the people are colder still. They wake him, they put weapons in his hands, and lead him out to fight creatures he has never seen before, then they put him back to sleep, and wake him again.

There are never familiar faces when he wakes, save one. _You should call me Merlin,_ said the man who does not meet his eyes, the first time they met. 

_Time passes,_ said Merlin when he asked why there is never anyone he knows. Merlin's shoulders are always bowed as though with great age. He does not ask again.

Waking is always painful. He gasps and shakes in bed as his sluggishly moving blood stabs pins and needles through his flash as it creeps towards his limbs, struggles to win control back from the cold, fails to sit up.

 _Let me help you,_ Merlin says, and puts Arthur's icy feet between his warm thighs, takes Arthur's icy hands in his warm hands, and presses burning lips to Arthur's palms. Arthur stares in confusion as he softly sucks heat back into Arthur's hands, making his blood rush through him and suffuse his flesh in ways it has not in almost longer than he can remember.

A muscle spasms in his right leg: pinned between Merlin's, it makes him push his leg deeper in the warm space there. Merlin sighs and rocks forward, presses into him, branding a hard length against his calves. Arthur is suddenly very aware of his own erection tenting his loose cotton sleep-trousers obviously, of how close their hands, and Merlin's soft, hot mouth, is to it. He feels embarrassment heat his face and looks around quickly.

There is no one else. He's not in the usual _hospital_ room they let him awaken in. There are no white-coated doctors or cold-faced nurses watching.

They are in what looks like a child's room, with faded, peeling wallpaper depicting dragons, and castles. The bedclothes are yellowed and tattered, the windows cracked. There are toys scattered across the floor.

"How?" he asks, and struggles to find enough spit to wet his mouth. "Where are we? What..."

 _I couldn't let them do it again._ Merlin says, and his lashes are wet as he bends over Arthur's hands, mouthing his now too-warm flesh over and over again. _I was wrong. I let it go on for too long, for vengeance. Forgive me._

"Merlin," he says, and shivers as Merlin lowers Arthur's hands to rest on the bed, then reaches to pull open Arthur's trousers and draw them own to reveal the achingly erect cock inside.

 _Let me do this for you,_ Merlin says, strong hands rubbing sensation into Arthur's thighs, then Arthur's knees spread of their own volition.

Frustratingly, Merlin does not immediately go where his need is greatest. He clutches Arthur's hips tight enough to hurt, holding him still, takes his time aimlessly kissing Arthur's thighs, letting his cheeks and insanely tickling hair brush uselessly over his straining cock. Arthur grips the ancient sheets to keep from tearing Merlin's hair out.

When he finally condescends to take Arthur's cock in his mouth, Arthur sobs from the shock of it and finds his hands tangled in Merlin's hair, surprisingly gentle. Merlin sucks at him so desperately he feels the threat of teeth several times, but he doesn't care, it's too much he has to stop now and he wants it to go on forever, this strange-familiar sensation he has missed so much, and he is still sobbing uncontrollably when he comes.

"Merlin," Arthur gasps, trying to pull him up so he can taste himself in Merlin's mouth, and Merlin coughs and shakes his head, twisting away from Arthur's hands.

_Merlin is gone, has been gone for over two hundred years. They got him, took him apart._

Arthur tries to reach for him again. "I know you. Whatever they did to you, I don't care. I remember you." Merlin shrinks back from him.

Merlin shakes his head again; his entire body shakes with shame. _They salvaged a part and grew me from his cells. When Arthur makes to speak, he puts a hand over Arthur's mouth. _I have his body, his magic. But I remember,_ he looks into Arthur's eyes for the first time, _I remember killing you.__

__

* * *

**63.**

 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** incest, dubious consent because one party is not aware that it is incest, breathplay

She's known about Morgana since she was a child. When Morgause was in so-called care, she would catch glimpses of supermarket newspapers, the Royal Family smiling urbanely. The little girl, always just a bit too tall, too dark to fit. Everyone knew the story, how Uther's best friend had died, how he'd taken in the daughter. How kind, how selfless.

Morgause burnt the clippings she'd collected in a rage the day they said she was "unable to be placed."

* 

For a while, she hated her own name. People always assume it's a knock-off, misspelled, common as dirt.

*

Still she couldn't help watching Morgana grow up, on the telly, in magazines and interviews. She's 15, graceful replacing gangly. Her braces come off and her smile is so bright it lights up the screen. Then 16, running down some poor public school girl on the pitch. 17, playing the princess, driving around with her little boyfriends, occasionally turning up for photo shoots with the prince, the ice palpable between them.

*

Morgause has always been a keen observer of human behavior; security work suits her. She can fade into the background, while she's given access to the highest echelons of society. Until someone, somewhere, decides to give her access to her sister.

Morgana is warmer and more human than Morgause could have imagined. She takes Morgause's hand and asks if they've met before, and it feels like electricity runs up her arm. She can see the shock reflected in Morgana's eyes.

Turning on the Pendragon charm, she thinks, but she's enchanted anyway.

*

Morgana starts to follow her around. The restless yearning on her face makes Morgause's heart sing. 

"You know, I can't do my job if you're always tagging along," she says, half kidding. She doesn't want Morgana to stop.

Morgana moves closer, brushes her bare arm against Morgause's breast. Hair swings in front of her eyes.

"I just want to be near you. You fascinate me," she says, and Morgause feels like every inch of her skin is magnetised to Morgana's.

"Later," she says, voice husky. "I'll sneak you out."

*

That's how they wind up in a bar, Morgause pressing Morgana against the wall, her thigh insinuating itself to rock against Morgana's center, wet already through the thin material of her dress.

Her hair comes out of its bun as Morgana pulls her close to kiss open-mouthed and sloppy. She tastes like something Morgause needs, like belonging.

She kneads Morgana's arse, pressing her fingers up into the softness of her cunt, and Morgana gasps, throwing her head back. She gets two fingers in and Morgana opens up to her, fucking herself on Morgause's hand and riding her thigh as she screams.

After Morgana is hazy and Morgause is still throbbing, but she curls her arm around the younger woman, buys her a glass of water and kisses her throat until Morgana grins and bats her away.

* 

In her bed, Morgana licks her open, sucking on her clit, and Morgause lets her hands circle Morgana's neck loosely, urging her on. When they switch to fucking, Morgana clenching around the steel strap-on she chose, Morgana pulls her hands back to her throat, whimpering "please."

Morgause is afraid of what Morgana will let her do, but she can't deny that she wants to see Morgana's eyes roll up, wants to feel her choke and gasp. She's only fantasised about that a thousand times. Morgana's face goes red, then white as she forces her legs open and keeps fucking her through it. Morgause comes just from the pressure against her clit and Morgana struggling under her.

*

"I feel like I know you, like I've always known you," Morgana says after, laying her head on Morgause's breast and Morgause thinks that trust is going to kill her.

* * *

**64.**

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None, really.

It’s different this time.

When Arthur enters his chambers, he grabs Merlin by the neckerchief and shoves him towards the bed. Merlin doesn’t quite fall, but it’s close. He should ask what’s wrong, what has happened, but Arthur looks like he’s on the verge of exploding, so Merlin keeps quiet and waits.

Instead of getting an explanation, Arthur roughly pulls him into a kiss. It’s desperate, hard, almost violent. It’s like Merlin’s the last water source on Earth and Arthur’s dying of thirst. Maybe he is, in a way.

When they break apart, Merlin squirms a bit. Arthur doesn’t let go of him, and the grip’s starting to hurt. There’s a short pause; Arthur just closes his eyes and breathes in. When he speaks, it’s with a surprising softness to his voice.

"Bed, please."

"You don’t ever say pl–"

But Arthur kisses him again, and Merlin soon forgets what they’re talking about and why he thought talking was a good idea anyway. They end up on the bed, somehow – Arthur on top, leaning over Merlin, slowly stripping him of his shirt and then, in a quite impressive display of acrobatics, managing to get both their breeches off without rising from the bed. Merlin’s already hard. It doesn’t take much, because it’s Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur mumbles into his neck and kisses him like it’s the last time he’ll ever be allowed to do so. Like Merlin would – could – ever deny him.

Grabbing the blond hair, Merlin tries to give as good as he gets, but Arthur doesn’t let him. Instead, he grinds their erections together, causing Merlin to let go and grab the rumpled covers for something better to hold onto. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the attention, Merlin moans and swears incoherently when Arthur breathes hotly into Merlin’s neck and uses his weight to keep him from wriggling out from under him.

The touching, kissing, licking goes on and on, and Merlin doesn’t know when the oil comes out, only when Arthur’s fingers breach him. He grinds down onto them, wants more, because he can be greedy too. Then there’s another finger and Merlin’s not sure if it’s him or Arthur that makes the whining sound. It might be him.

Then they fuck, and that is different, too. It’s too much and not enough, because Arthur doesn’t look at him. Instead, he looks upwards and seems to try to blink away the sweat threatening to run into his eyes. He runs his hand over Merlin’s right ankle where it’s resting on Arthur’s shoulder to allow him better access. He uses his hips to make Merlin tremble and whine and groan his name. But he still doesn’t look.

Arthur jerks Merlin off, runs his calloused hand along the shaft, flicks the wrist in the way Merlin loves, and it soon turns erratic and rough and absolutely wonderful. When Merlin comes, Arthur’s lips are right there, on his, swallowing his words and cries, like a starving man would gorge on a piece of bread.

When Arthur comes, he shudders and is still. He slides out, but doesn’t curl up next to Merlin, doesn’t hold him like he always does afterwards. Instead, he shuffles away, and Merlin’s afraid he’s about to leave his own chambers until Arthur stops himself midway through the movement and returns to sit naked on the edge of the bed with his back to Merlin. It’s slick with sweat, and Merlin lets his fingers play with the wetness for a second before settling into a caress.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

Arthur hunches his shoulders and hides his face in his hands like a chastised child. Merlin sits up and wraps his arms around him. They sit like that for a long while, Arthur’s hand slowly running over the protective arm Merlin has placed over his chest, as to calm him.

"I’m..." he begins.

Merlin kisses his shoulder, silently urging him on. A small shiver runs through Arthur’s body.

"I’m marrying Gwen. In two days time. This was... this was the last time. I’m supposed to be faithful to her now."

It’s like being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. Slowly, Merlin lets go and sits back on his heels. It’s like his entire body has been emptied. He’s not angry, not sad. Just hollow.

Not until Arthur’s grabs his wrist and forces him to meet his eyes does Merlin realise that he's crying, too.

* * *

**65.**

 **Title:** Conquered, we conquer.  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** could possibly be viewed as dub-con due to not having full facts of person’s identity, but participants were consenting before they knew that.

Days they’d hidden, Arthur’s wounds tended by the beguiling man who’d found him on the battlefield.

_He’d appeared from nowhere, uniform torn and bloodied, moving with a grace suggesting him far more dangerous than he looked. As he’d approached, insignias on his tunic became apparent; he was one of Arthur’s men, but not one he recognised._

The war seemed endless; General Pendragon blamed all troubles on magic, centuries of peace crumbled leaving guns and magic tearing the air.

_"Your hand," the soldier ordered, grunting as he hefted Arthur over his shoulder. They’d trekked all night, Merlin introducing himself in whispers as he evaded the enemies in the trees before they’d reached this remote cabin._

_After Arthur’s wounds improved, unexpectedly fast, the spats started: Merlin calling Arthur an idiot for being where he was alone, Arthur bristling at being rebuked. When Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders to shake sense into him, he found himself drawn to those plump lips and insolent tongue instead.  
Arthur kissed like the war had followed them inside, biting at Merlin’s mouth, grunting victoriously when Merlin opened to him, tongue thrusting between those lips to stroke and tease at Merlin’s own, rough hands grabbing at jutting hips. In response, Merlin pressed closer, curling possessively around Arthur, slow rolls of his hips sparking sweet friction, as he mouthed under Arthur’s jaw where his scent was stronger than the pall of destruction that hung around them. Clothes were torn at as though their existence were a personal affront, stumbling steps collapsing them to the cot._

There were whispers of a great warlock, a man of such power that he was magic itself, destined to return peace to Albion.

**Emrys.**

_Arthur rocked back, grinding desperately against Merlin’s hand, demanding more. It’d been so long since Arthur could be demanding, be selfish and just_ take _until sated, left with the ache of his hole, the burn of his thighs and fresh sweat._

_"Slowly," chuckled Merlin," we’ve time." But he acquiesced, easing another finger inside tight heat._

_"None of – unfh- us have time." Arthur countered. "Get on with it." His whine when Merlin withdrew belied his command, as did his cry when three fingers slid back in to tease his prostate._

_"I want to spread you out, take my time, time this war is stealing from us," Merlin crooned. "Stay in you all day, have you ride me so you feel it for days. You want that?"_

_Arthur was too gone to be ashamed of his whimpered, "yes."_

Uther believed it a fairy-tale, but not Arthur: he’d set out, alone, seeking the truth.

_"When you couldn’t walk on your knees anymore, I'd roll you over, spread these gorgeous thighs,"  
Merlin scratched his nails from knee to hip, as he knelt between Arthur’s legs, "slide into you," Merlin withdrew his fingers completely, sighing in pleasure at the feel of Arthur yielding to his cock as he sank in deep, soaking up the blonde’s gibbering pleas for more. _

_"Nff- wanted you- for so long…all this time, missed you Merlin."_

_Merlin’s smiled widely as he took Arthur’s mouth, Arthur tasting his joy at the confusing garble he’d uttered._

The uniform he was so proud of lay crumpled on the floor, tangled in Merlin’s when Arthur reached for his shirt. A failed attempt to pull it on revealed it was Merlin’s, but as Arthur moved to discard it, the insignia caught his eye; sloppily stitched with haste, not the precision of the factories.

Arthur’s blood ran to ice as he noted Merlin’s ribbon bars were out of order, the buttons wrong... Unsure what he was searching for and desperate not to find it, Arthur plucked up Merlin’s uniform, checking each pocket until he found a notebook.

Arthur’s hands trembled as he leafed through pages of unintelligible, yet all too familiar words, pages of spells blurred before him. The last page held sketches of dragons, runes scrawled beneath. Only one being had enough magic to bring back dragons. The grimoire fell from limp fingers with a thump, Arthur’s watery gaze drifting up the cot to find Merlin’s guileless stare.

"It’s you." The words rend his throat as they tore into the gulf between them.

To his credit, Merlin didn’t bluster through an excuse.

"You’re Emrys."

"I am. I was born of magic." Merlin’s voice was peaceful where Arthur’s was breathless.  
"We’re going to use magic to end this war." The blanket fell away as Merlin sat up, naked and unashamed, Arthur’s traitorous body swaying towards the seductive heat of the warlock’s body. 

"It’s our destiny."

* * *

**66.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Other, Merlin/Self  
 **Warning(s):** Voyeurism 

After years of looking, Merlin has his search method down to a science. Scanning through thumbnails, he’s trained his eyes to pause for only the right combination of golden hair and lightly-tanned skin. When he finds it, he clicks to see more. First one’s too short, then one’s too slim, one has an ugly dick—that won’t work for Merlin’s purposes, it _needs > to be beautiful, just like Arthur._

_Finally he finds one—golden blond, broad-shouldered, gorgeous cock--and settles back in his chair, legs spread in anticipation. Reaching for lube, he presses play, knowing better than to look _too_ closely at the face on the screen. Usually he turns the volume down as well; he’s yet to find the right look with the right voice. Those plummy, prattish tones are hard to duplicate._

_He’d rather create the voice in his head anyway. Then it will say what _he_ wants, whispering the filthy things he longs to hear in just the right timber, the _right_ accent._

_Tonight’s match is good. The fuzzed profile is refined, the body _exactly_ what Merlin’s looking for. He just hopes they don’t do many close-ups of the faces. Forced to close his eyes, he’ll miss too much action._

_During the fully-clothed intro bullshit, Merlin glances at the other bloke. Brown hair--lighter than his, but close enough—and skinny, much slimmer than his companion. That was _good_. It helped the fantasy when both men conformed to the images in Merlin’s head. _

_Tonight, his need is more urgent than usual. His workday had been hell, pressed into close quarters with his gorgeous, tragically heterosexual boss, Arthur Pendragon. Confined side-by-side inside the tiny field office, touches went astray, and their bodies had brushed together repeatedly._

_A moan from the speakers jolts his eyes open. Onscreen, "Arthur" has his head thrown back, body rattling with a deep groan. Normally this would be when he’d turn the volume off, but there’s something so right about that groan that he leaves it on. The brunette’s head is bent; he’s got "Arthur’s" cock in his mouth, sucking with lazy, rhythmic strokes._

_Merlin’s fingers tighten around his own flesh, roughening the drag of his fist while he watches "Arthur’s" dick disappear and slowly reappear in long intervals._

__It’s good_. His gasps and moans are nothing like a porn-star’s. The sounds are rough, raw, and a bit ugly, sending Merlin’s arousal higher with every twisted note._

_Sliding his hand forward, he thumbs his foreskin, his eyes drifting half-closed to blur the image onscreen as "Arthur" lifts his head and the camera pans in to capture the sucked-stupid look on his face. Ignoring the eyes, Merlin lets his deliberately blurred gaze settle on the mouth, slack with pleasure, the lips full and red--enough like Arthur’s to make Merlin groan in counterpoint to the keening from that gorgeous mouth._

_The brunette returns to stroking "Arthur’s" cock, and Merlin kneads the taut skin of his balls, riveted by the slick slide of straining flesh through the tight fist he wishes was his own. Stroking himself in time with "Arthur’s" thrusts, his groan of disappointment mingles with "Arthur’s" as the hand is abruptly withdrawn._

_Suddenly there’s an even better view: "Arthur" up on his knees, legs spread wide, arse cheeks parted as he buries his face in the brunette’s arse._

_"Oh fuck!"_

_Breath coming faster now, Merlin speeds his stroke as he stares at the little rosy hole filling the screen. Could Arthur’s be just as pretty?_

__Fuuuuuuck_ _

_That’s when "Arthur" speaks, and Merlin’s mind shatters.  
 **"Turn over, yeah?"**_

_That’s all he says. Merlin’s never heard that voice so husky before, but…_

_Dropping his cock, Merlin rolls the video back, searching for the close-up he’d avoided earlier. There! Arthur’s face fills the screen. Not _nearly_ Arthur, it _is_ Arthur. Flushed and panting, perfect lips slack with pleasure, pupils blown so wide the blue is almost totally obscured. _

_Oh God, Arthur in a porno…a _gay_ porno. Excitement wars with shock and Merlin’s cock twitches, his balls drawing tight. Eyes filled with Arthur’s face, it takes only a few desperate strokes before he’s gasping and spilling, heedlessly spattering his release over desk and laptop. _

_Slumped and shivering with aftershocks, he watches in fascination as a drop of cum drips down Arthur’s cheek on the screen. He blinks several times making sure it isn’t wishful thinking seeing what it wants. But there’s no doubt. He watches the rest of the video in shock._

_It’s Arthur. His _straight_ boss. _Fucking a man_. On Merlin’s computer._

__

* * *

**67.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):**

Arthur groaned, throwing his head back as another slicked up finger slid into him. Three was a tight fit, but the other man didn’t care. He didn’t give Arthur a second to adjust, scissoring in and out of Arthur with gusto. He’d managed to find an angle that had Arthur burning with both pleasure and pain.

Yeah, Arthur thought as he relaxed around the fingers. Some things were worth coming clean.

Arthur was perfected in the art of secrets. How to find them, keep them, or use them to his advantage. Growing up with Morgana and Uther taught him how to lie flawlessly. 

But there were times when a man had to do what he had to do.

The fingers were gone suddenly, and Arthur clinched around nothing. He moaned as he felt lanky limbs crawl up the bed. Slicked up hands spread Arthur’s legs wide, and he gasped as a thick hardness rested against his arse. 

Arthur’s eyes were locked between them. When he finally looked up he was met with those infuriating blue eyes.

Arthur first saw them when he was out with his friends. He was leaning against the bar talking to Elena. Arthur only caught sight of them for a second before he was shoved, his mouth getting attacked by another man.

"What the hell!" He’d shouted, pushing him off. The man merely smirked, eyes shining with mirth.

"My bad, bro," the guy said, running his thumb across Arthur’s bottom lip. "Thought you looked like you needed a good snogging."

Arthur sputtered, "I’m not gay!"

Pendragon’s knew how to take things to the grave, and Arthur fully expected himself to die before he let anyone find that he actually was. But alas.

The man looked like he wanted to protest, but he rolled his eyes and stumbled closer to Arthur, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. "Me neither, mate."

Arthur pushed him off again.

"Aye, don’t get pushy, mate," A long haired guy warned. "We’re just having a bit of fun." 

Through his shock, Arthur seemed to miss his group of friends being infiltrated by a bunch of leather wearing, swoopy haired arseholes all clad in skinny jeans. Leon and Mithian were having their hair messed with by twins in matching combat boots. Lance was backed into the bar while a blue-eyed piece of jailbait with black hair grabbed on his junk. Gwen stood wide eyed, biting her knuckles as she watched, completely unaware of the short haired blonde girl who had expensive taste in her choice of black clothing that lurked behind her, smelling her neck. 

The kisser ignored his friends and Arthur both, walking over to Elena. "What about you, babe? Wanna good snogging?"

Elena blushed and giggled.

The long haired man raised a smug brow, and went to sit down next to Percy on a bar stool. Shamelessly checking the bigger man out as his Vans tapped to the beat of the song that played. 

Thinking back on the night caused Arthur to growl, because the man and his group of misfits had truly thought themselves clever. Being all dark, mysterious, and open minded, wooing their women; and if Lance was anything to go by, their men, too. Arthur decided to flip their positions on the small bed. The skinner man flailed a bit at being so easy handled. Arthur smirked. Just like the infuriating arsehole had earlier, right before planting one on Elena.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss either. His long fingers wrapped her up, pulling her close. His tongue visibly thrust into her mouth, Elena simply melting against him. 

That was when Arthur said screw his comfy, little closet to hell. Because the man made it a competition as he flicked those blue eyes straight toward Arthur and winked. 

And Arthur didn’t lose. Ever. 

So he stole the fucking show. Walked over, ripped the skinny fuck off her, and crashed their mouths together instead.

Arthur thought he’d definitely won as he sank down on the man’s thick cock, fucking himself until he came hard across the pale chest under him. The man cried out and spilled at nearly the same time. Arthur let himself enjoy the bliss for a second before he got up and started to locate his clothes.

"Woah," the man flailed into sitting position, grabbing Arthur’s arm to stop him. "Hi. I’m Merlin. You’re amazing. Let’s fuck forever."

Arthur snorted, but he got back in the bed feeling like a champion.

* * *

**68.**

 **Pairing:** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None

Morgana moaned as Merlin thrust into her, his fingers brushing lightly over her clitoris, teasing her onto the brink.

"Merlin." She whimpered, biting her lip to keep from crying out more. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Merlin stopped abruptly. It couldn’t be. Morgana’s eye’ shone with the gold of magic, and the vase on the night table rattled ever so quietly. Could the Lady really be hiding a secret so big as magic? He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back.

"What is it?" She asked, sitting up to look at her lover. "Did I do something wrong?" Merlin looked at her eyes, they were back to their normal green.

"No." Merlin said, staring intently at her eyes. "It’s nothing, but for a moment I could have sworn your eyes glowed gold, and the vase on the night table moved. 

The Lady’s eyes grew wide for a moment, before schooling her features back into a calm façade taught from the many years at court. "What?" She smiled as if Merlin had told her he had a third eye. "That’s ridiculous, only people with magic have eye that glow gold."

The servant sighed. "I know magic when I see it, Morgana. You’re eyes glowed."

Morgana pulled away from Merlin and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her dark hair falling over her shoulder and covering her pale breasts. "I don’t have magic." She said through gritted teeth. 

"I won’t tell anyone." Merlin said, reaching out to comfort her. "Please, Morgana, you can trust me." 

"If I told anyone, they’re go running to Uther and he would show me no mercy." Morgana’s voice sounded small and distant. 

"Not if that person also had magic, and lived each day living in fear that it could be his last. That at any moment someone would find out and he would be executed."

Morgana turned and stared at Merlin. He couldn’t have magic, a boy so loyal to Arthur. She had heard the boy say many times that magic was evil. "And what would you know about this?" She asked warily. 

Merlin hesitated for a moment before whispering into his hand, his eyes glowing that frightening gold. A small flame danced in his palm. "You can touch it." He whispered. "It won’t hurt you."

Morgana brushed her fingers through the flame, nothing more than a warm heat touched her skin.  
"You don’t have to be afraid of your powers, Morgana" 

"How long have you had your magic?" Morgana asked, turning away and brushing a tear off her cheek.

Merlin gave her a crooked grin. "My whole life. I know better than anyone what you’re feeling."

Morgana turned back to her lover. "No one can ever know about this." She said.

Merlin laughed. "I’m a klutz, not stupid." He pulled her into a hug, the skin on skin contact calming the lady. "I can even teach you how to control it."

"I’d like that." Morgana gave a small smile.

Merlin kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I’ll teach you all I know, and I promise you that one day our kind won’t have to live in fear in Camelot."

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**69.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/ysAIq47)

* * *

**70.**

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Voyerism

[](http://imgur.com/B9fx3cd)

* * *

**71.**

**Pairing(s):Merlin/Arthur**  
 **Warning(s):None**

Merlin's secret is that he can't stop watching his king while he is having his _alone time_ , hidden away. and of course Arthur figures it out in the end and puts on a private show.

[](http://imgur.com/KKvOlKm)

* * *

**72.**

 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning:** Half-Sibling Incest

**They keep each other's secrets safe.**

[](http://imgur.com/vhUpBEG)

* * *

**73.**

 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Public Sex, Exhibitionism

[](http://imgur.com/buXeTep)

* * *

**74.**

 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen, Morgana/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con/non-con, asphyxiation, bondage, implied infidelity, implied death (Lancelot)

[](http://imgur.com/a5CS22I)

* * *

**75.**

**Pairing(s):Merlin/Arthur**  
 **Warning(s):None**

[](http://imgur.com/kwfFk48)

* * *

**76.**

**Pairing(s):Merlin/Arthur**  
 **Warning(s):None**

[](http://imgur.com/f2wep1f)

* * *

**77.**

**Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur**  
 **Warning(s): None!**

The secret is that Arthur is **really** into being manhandled by Merlin's magic, but doesn't know how to ask for it. That is, until Merlin catches on. 

[](http://imgur.com/1pL3MqU)

* * *

**78.**

**Pairing(s):Merlin/Arthur**  
 **Warning(s):None**

[](http://imgur.com/2Nck5Qi)

Will whoever that is just pick up your phone!?

* * *


	5. Group A (clean)

**1.**

"Hi," Merlin says as he looks in the mirror, stretches his lips until his cheeks hurt, his teeth show, until he has as convincing a smile as he can make it. "Hi, my name’s Michael Emerson."

***  
Arthur Pendragon lives in 3C. Merlin learns this one night when he can’t sleep, having woken up from another nightmare, and decides he needs some fresh air. He finds himself in the inner courtyard’s community garden where Arthur’s sitting on a bench, smoking. 

"Rough night?" he says, then blows smoke out the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," Merlin says. Orange light from the pathway lamps spills over the ground, but the shadows are deep green and black, blue over Arthur’s face. Arthur offers him a fag, and they talk.

***

"Hi," Merlin says, sticks his hand out for his new employer. "Hi, I’m Michael Emerson."

***

Arthur Pendragon has a meaningful name. It used to mean more, Arthur tells him, used to be a Family name, capital letter and all that. Before his father lost everything. Before Arthur saw his trust fund emptied and had to work to pay his way through college. But it still means something, Merlin knows. It’s still Arthur’s.

Merlin likes saying it at random moments during the day, sees the way Arthur instinctively reacts to it, hums in acknowledgement without lifting his eyes from the magazine he’s reading. 

Merlin tries to remember that hum, the unconscious tilt of Arthur’s head toward the sound of his name. 

He practices them in front of the mirror every morning. 

***

"Nah, it’s just me," Merlin says when his co-workers ask questions. That’s what the papers the cops had made him memorise said: Michael Emerson. 25. No family. "It’s just me."

***

Merlin wakes with the echo of a scream dying around him, unsure if it’s his or the one from his dreams. He takes deep breaths and shivers, the sheets cool and damp with sweat around his waist. _You’re safe now, son. You’re safe_ , the cop had said.

Arthur’s in the garden, and Merlin’s knees are so weak, his chest heavy and filled with fear, with aches. He misses home.

Arthur doesn’t say anything, lets Merlin climb into his lap, legs on each side of him on the bench.

Merlin holds Arthur’s face between his hands. The air’s pungent and heavy with summer night, with soil from the garden and sun-drenched leaves slowly cooling. Arthur’s mouth tastes like mint and the vague lingering bitterness of smoke.

 _You’re safe now, son._

When Arthur wraps strong, long fingers around Merlin’s cock, Merlin whimpers, panting loud, harsh breaths against Arthur’s jaw. He sucks wet kisses across Arthur’s neck, clings to him with sweaty fingers, knees like a vice on his hips, and fucks Arthur’s hand until the slow burn of his orgasm and the biting edge of Arthur’s teeth on his shoulders are all he can feel.

Arthur wraps his arm around him, holds on tight. "Michael."

***

_Michael Emerson. 25. No family.  
Michael Emerson. 25. No family.   
Michael Emerson. 25. No family._

***

Arthur takes him apart. 

The wet, squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of Merlin’s arse, easy and deliberate, is almost obscene in the heavy stillness of the room.

Yellow light from the street lamps comes in through the slanted blinds, paints long shapes in the the darkness, over the rumpled sheets, their naked skin.

Arthur licks at Merlin’s rim, stretched tight, and skims the edge with his thumb, curls his fingertips up until Merlin sobs, a whining sound low in his throat, like a wounded animal. Then, he pulls out. A slow drag that almost fills Merlin with panic at being left emptied, hole gaping, only made better by the sharp tug Arthur gives his cock before pushing back in, lazy with it. 

They’ve been at it for so long.

Merlin bites at the covers, rubs the sweat off his face against the fabric. His limbs shake, his brain’s fuzzy, and he thinks this might go on forever, that he’ll spend the rest of his life open on Arthur’s fingers and tongue. 

He says, "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur," over and over again, tries to put everything he feels into it, something bold and pure between his lips, needs to taste truth on his tongue.

***

"Call me Em," Merlin says. "Please." He traces the shadows around Arthur’s collarbones with a finger. 

Arthur Pendragon is a truthful name.

"Em? Is that for Emerson, or, like, M as in Michael?"

As in Emrys. As in Merlin. 

"Both. Either."

* * *

**2.**

She resists the idea for years, grieving, resenting the loss of her imagined future, but there is a glare to Arthur, a strong, dazzling aura that clings despite his faults. It draws her to him and irritates her in equal measure. 

She dreams of him and, at sixteen, detests feeling like a pawn. If this is to be her fate, she will have a say in it. She corners him in the stables after a hunt.

"If you will train me as a knight, I'll teach you how to please a lady."

"Morgana!" He looks up, startled, from stroking Llamrei's neck. "Why on earth would I – ?" 

"As a courtesy to your future wife," she cuts in.

He laughs. "And that's you, is it?"

"Well it certainly won't be a fat groom or one of your toadying squires!" She's not thinking as she says it, it's pure spite, but she sees the way his eyes go round before icing over, sees the way his jaw clenches, colour staining his cheeks. 

Oho, she thinks, remembering Arthur at ten, eleven, twelve, watching Uther's stallion let down its massive cock; staring at that thieving kitchen boy being spanked bare-arsed in full view of the court; trying _not_ to stare at the acrobats in nothing but loincloths, skin gleaming with oil. 

Lately, all the bright eyes and bare cleavage in the castle are no match for one word of praise from his favourite knights. 

Aha, she thinks, and just like that her future seems less bleak.

"Or should I say," she says, pressing in close, "if you will train me as a knight, I will…" 

She whispers the rest in his ear, hears his breath catch, feels him shiver.

"There's no dishonour in it this way," she promises. "No danger. It will be our secret."

They swear on their dead parents' graves.

* * *

It's only her voice at first. Her will. She bribes handsome guards to strip off and wrestle in the courtyard, urging Arthur to watch from his window. She stands behind him and tells him it's all right, that she knows his thing is getting all stiff and red in his trousers.

"Take it out and touch it," she says, "like you do at night, but with eyes open."

Then one time, impatient, she reaches around and takes him in hand. She doesn't expect to enjoy it, but it feels good in her hand and he makes the most gratifying sound, almost as if he's been wounded.

"Ah," he cries, letting go and bracing himself on the window ledge, straining into her grip. "Gods…oh, that's… _Morgana._ "

His naked bottom presses hard against her, and she squeezes her thighs together, giving an experimental thrust. There is a surge of pleasure, of power; by the time he spends in her hand she feels as if there are sparks flying under her skin. 

"Hold," she gasps, clamping her arm around his hips. She shoves her other hand between them and thrusts harder, riding her own fingers cradled in the cleft of his arse. 

By the time she comes he is hard again, flushed as red as he ever gets, and he won't meet her eyes. He is trembling with need. Feeling benevolent, she kisses his shoulder and runs her palms over his hips.

"Go on," she says, rubbing all the wet – his and hers both – into his skin. He surprises her by pressing his left hand over hers, inching it back as he spreads his legs as wide as his fallen trousers will allow. He remembers himself then, jerking his hand away, but it's too late. She knows what he's after.

"I think I shall dress as a boy next time." She reaches to cup and squeeze his tender balls, then trails two fingers up behind, rubbing at all the smooth, sweaty skin, the little pucker hidden away between his legs. Like this, all messy, he feels as slick as a girl. "Borrow a fat pestle and a bottle of oil." 

He groans, now tugging furiously at his prick. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, having something just…here?" She presses a fingertip to his hole, keeps it there as he spurts for the second time.

There must be a way to rig up some sort of harness, she thinks. And perhaps, someday, she'll find them a third, a pretty warm mouth who won't mind going down on his knees and is good at keeping secrets.

* * *

**3.**

Mordred has no idea how much trouble that splash of water will cost him. He's still laughing when Percy shoves him backwards. Even with the resistance of the water - the lake was too clear and the water warm enough to be an irresistible temptation - Mordred still loses his balance and falls back. He expects to smoothly ease down; instead he lands on something solid. Before he knows it two strong arms lock Mordred's arms to his chest, and immobilise his upper body. "Little troublemaker," someone chuckles, and Mordred recognises Leon's voice. He tries to twist away but he's helpless in the water. Percy approaches them grinning. 

"Nice catch there," he hums. The water level barely licks his pecks. Damm they're both huge with Leon. "Think we can eat him for dinner?" 

"Mmm," Leon purrs in Mordred's ear. "He's rather small to feed the both of us, don't you think?" He bites Mordred's earlobe and his tongue flicks over the skin. Mordred shudders. Pleasure runs through his body and his cock throbs lightly. He moves his foot back and shifts his weight, gluing his lower body to Leon's. He can feel his fellow knight's growing hardness against his ass. 

Percy blatantly invades Mordred's personal space. His hands brush Mordred's sides but don't linger. There's a tug, a pull, and then they're sandwiched together. Percy's cock presses into Mordred's lower abdomen. 

Leon's grip on Mordred slackens and his hands trail down and rest on Mordred's hips. His pelvis is leisurely rocked back and forth as much as the space between them allows. Percival smirks and traces Mordred's lower lip with a wet finger. 

"Your big secret is safe with us, little knight," Leon coos. His now fully hard cock presses snugly in the crevice of Mordred's ass. Leon's... proportional, to say the least. 

"What secret?" Mordred feigns innocence. He knows - they know - it's as fake as his apparent calm under such openly sexual attack. Not that he minds - and that's only the confirmation. He wonders how much they know, are they aware of the dark and secret nights during which he gets himself off on the thought of Percy and Leon sandwiching him in much the same way, bites his lower lip pretending that it's Leon's teeth which cause the sweet pain, pretends that his three slicked fingers are actually Percy's cock which stretches him so good- 

A hand strokes the length of his cock and he nearly moans. 

"Water's boiling around you, hot little knightling," Percy groans. The way his voice fucking vibrates, Mordred wonders if it sounds the same way when he- 

He tosses his head back onto Leon's shoulder when the latter's hand caresses his balls and starts stroking him. "We'd be really offended if you seriously thought we hadn't noticed the way you look at us sometimes... The way you swallow hard when we change our clothes or completely undress... And can we forget that one time when Percy tackled me to the ground and pretended I was his bride to be on our wedding night?" 

Leon chuckles at the last bit. Percy smiles too. They have pressed him tight between their big muscular bodies, both of them so tall and strong, both well hung, both so deliciously... big. The tip of Mordred's cock rubs against Percy's thigh every now and then, when Leon changes the angle. It's impossibly hard not to let out a single sound when Percy is teasing him with his tongue, brushing his lips against Mordred's but not really kissing him. Mordred tries to initiate it, tries to kiss but Percy is quick and cruel and he only smiles when Mordred fails. 

He's so close, panting hard, he can feel the pleasure pooling, edging, almost tipping over- 

"Hey!" Gwaine hollers. "Don't haggle the kid all for yourselves, you big perverts!" 

Leon and Percy let go of Mordred and step away. "No, of course not." Percy smiles, never taking his eyes off Mordred. "We'd wait until it's dark."

* * *

**4.**

It is no secret that the Queen and her First Knight are lovers; they are so with the King’s blessing. Just who has the upper hand in such matters is more of a matter for debate, and neither Guinivere nor Leon elaborate on that at all. While unashamed of their trysting, they keep the details between themselves.

But what Leon has never admitted, not even to Gwen, is that he enjoys being at her disposal. The position of First Knight is more than one of prestige; it is a position that enables him to serve as well as protect her. When she pulls him against her and tugs at his hair, and begs him to fuck her harder, faster, he does so enthusiastically, because it is a command.

He would do anything for her. He thinks about this often, and during those rare times that he is alone, the details consume his imaginings. But it would debase her to ask her to do such things, so they remain solely in his mind; aching, lonely thoughts.

Then, one day, Arthur gives her a trinket, something he picked up in one of his infrequent forays down into the market. It is simply a long ribbon of burgundy velveteen, with a bell strung on it. Gwen is playing with it against her skin a couple of nights later, when Leon visits. He compliments it; that shade has always looked beautiful on her.

"Do you think so?" she asks, seeming a little ashamed as she admits, "I’m not sure I like it." And, then, as a joke, purely, she stands up and ties it around his neck.

Her murmur of mirth turns to a surprised look as she feels him tense up, and watches him swallow. She starts to remove it, but his hand stays hers. "No. Leave it," he says.

After that, a flood gate opens silently, for both of them. She pretends to neglect him, making him sit for an hour beside her chair as she reads, or curl at the foot of her bed able to only watch as she pleasures herself. He is allowed only to eat tidbits with her fingers. When she touches his hair, it is with the patronizing air of one petting a kitten. When she does finally allow him release, it is more powerful than what he’s ever felt before, and they both take note of it.

One night, she shows him something she had ordered for him. "What is it?" he asks, running his hands over the stiff piece of tan leather. There is a short tuft of horse-hair on one end; the other end is a long, slim, tapered cylinder of some dark-colored hardwood. She won’t answer him, though, only offers to show him. After he is in his proper, disrobed state, of course.

"Promise me no one will know," he begs, suddenly doubting his loyalty, a moment before she sets it into place. "That this is our secret, like everything else." She kisses his cheek, and promises, and then she slides the oiled plug into his ass. His low moan puts doubts to rest for her; for him, the thrill of probing, humiliated violation does the same.

He squirms, and gasps as his clenching makes him keenly aware of how there’s something lodged there. The lion-like tail juts in a gentle curve from between his asscheeks; he can feel it rocking the plug inside of him, the whole affair fiendishly, perfectly counterbalanced, as he crawls on all fours to the rug by the fireplace. The bell around his neck chimes gently.

She lies down beside him, stroking his long mane of curly brown hair. Every now and then, her finger slides down to nudge the bell and coax more soft music from it. She rubs her cheek against his, and her breasts against his back; she runs her hands down the thick golden hair that covers his chest and runs down his belly, like an extension of a lion’s mane. He rumbles and finds himself stretching his arms and legs out stiffly, his fingers flexing, kneading like claws. As her palm glides over his lean, muscled hip and moves lower to jostle the tail, he licks his chops and makes a low growling sound again, his eyes closing to slits as he feels himself getting hard.

She closes her hand around that hardness. "My brave Leon, my powerful lion, my beautiful beast, my _pet_ …" she murmurs, lips brushing his ear.

When she finally gets on all fours and lets him mount her, he bites the back of her neck and takes her eagerly, proving himself a loyal and proper pet, indeed.

* * *

**5.**

The bedroom stank of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke; the fan was running full blast against the summer heat, not quite loud enough to drown out the thrum of traffic outside; and Morgana’s head was buried between Gwen’s thighs.

They’d done this enough times that Morgana was getting to be a pro. She knew just how Gwen tasted, just how her thighs quivered when she was properly enjoying herself; she knew where Gwen was sensitive and where she was too-sensitive. Gwen didn’t like having her clit touched, so she had to work around it, licking long and slow up either side and around till Gwen squealed.

Gwen squealed. Her fingers trailed across the back of Morgana’s head, toying with her hair. "Put your fingers in me." Her voice was breathy. "Please."

Morgana sucked a hot kiss below her clit and pushed two fingers up inside her, roughly. There was no point being gentle; this wasn’t gentle. They’d never been gentle. She moved her fingers in and out slowly as she licked, drawing her tongue up and down between Gwen’s folds until her thighs began to shake and she was gasping, gasping. 

Gwen said, "yes, yes, yes, like that," and then she mewled. Gwen always mewled when she came, mewled like a kitty. Morgana sometimes wondered if she made that noise for him, or if it was just for her. Gwen’s thighs shook and twitched, and then went slack, her legs falling open. 

Morgana tugged out her fingers, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and crawled up the bed, trailing her fingers across Gwen’s thighs, her belly, her tits. Gwen smiled at her sunnily, the smile that always made Morgana feel like they were just a couple sharing a moment together. She smiled back, smiled as Gwen reached up and toyed with her sweaty hair where it was hanging down over her shoulder, smiled as Gwen hummed in contentment.

The moment didn’t last. On the bedside table Gwen’s phone lit up, buzzing in a quick one-two-three rhythm. Gwen let go of Morgana’s hair and groped for it. When she saw the name on the screen she swore. "Shit. It’s him." 

She pushed Morgana away and rolled out of bed. She didn’t answer the phone till she was out of the bed room, hovering on the landing, as if that made it better. "Arthur!" she trilled. "Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"

Morgana settled in, propping herself against the pillows, and lit another cigarette. They’d probably talk a while. He always had plenty of shit to talk about, when he was away on business. Stupid anecdotes and gossip that Gwen laughed at and chatted about like she hadn’t just had another woman’s mouth on her cunt.

Sometimes – most times – Morgana considered calling out while Gwen was on the phone to him. It wouldn’t take much, just _hey, come back to bed_ would make him at least confused, if not outright suspicious.

But it’s not like it would make any different. He trusted Gwen, and he thought she was straight, so it wasn’t like she have any difficulty convincing him it was nothing. And then after she’d be angry, and she’d make Morgana leave, and it might be ages before she let her back in.

Besides, Gwen was always at her most fun right after talking to her husband. Once she’d hung up the phone she jumped straight back into bed, bouncing on the mattress, bright-eyed and excited, her cunt still wet. "Sorry about that."

"S’okay." Morgana stubbed out her cigarette and let Gwen kiss her, tongue sliding straight into her mouth. Gwen liked kissing Morgana after she’d eaten her out, while her mouth still tasted of pussy. She liked kissing Morgana right after talking to her husband.

Some time, Morgana thought, some time she should have Gwen call up her husband while she was going down on her, call him up and listen to his stupid anecdotes and his _sweethearts_ and his _loves_ and his _I miss yous_ while she had Morgana’s tongue up her cunt. But not today. No. Next time, maybe. Next time he went away.

* * *

**6.**

The two tables were probably about ten metres apart altogether. Arthur had never measured. He was just glad that the bookcases that lined either side provided about as much privacy as one could get in the university library.

He was also glad that Vivian sat diagonal to him; not directly across, where she’d block his view, and not beside him, where she’d most certainly be able to tell what he was doing.

Arthur was wanking.

But the other bloke was, too. In fact, Arthur was pretty sure it was the other bloke who’d started it. The first time it happened, Arthur had simply been tapping his pencil, waiting for Vivian to give up trying to play the hardworking student so they could go back to his room and fuck. He’d only happened by chance to catch sight of the boy across the room who was surreptitiously palming his crotch under the table. Arthur had abruptly stopped tapping his pencil and stared.

He’d got hard watching him, the boy with dark hair and long eyelashes that seemed to kiss his cheekbones every time he blinked. His face had been tilted down, looking at an open book, so Arthur hadn’t got a good view of his face until he suddenly looked up, straight at Arthur, like he could feel Arthur’s gaze.

The how’s and when’s were a bit blurry now, but that’s how they’d got here. The boy’s girlfriend—Arthur assumed it was his girlfriend, because he’d seen them kiss a few times after leaving the library—also sat diagonal to him, mirroring the position of Arthur and Vivian. It always started with just palming themselves through their jeans, sneaking quick glances over to their respective partners to see how absorbed they were in their work, before the zips came undone. That was always the difficult part, having to synchronise the turning of a page with the quick downward motion to disguise the unfastening of metallic teeth. A cough or a sneeze helped as well.

Arthur used to worry about things like cameras and other people suddenly walking by, but after a while he’d relaxed. It had become a routine, every Thursday, like clockwork. He and Vivian would come to the library around five or so, the other boy and his girlfriend would already be here, and by six it had started. After ten minutes of tortuously slow build-up, two minutes of working up the nerve to actually pull a cock outand maybe six more minutes of real wanking, one of them would take the initiative to get up and go to the toilets to finish. Once one got back, the other went. It was a good system, really.

Until Arthur started to think about the boy while fucking Vivian. Then it had got weird.

He wondered if the boy thumbed the slit like he did, rubbed precome over his shaft to make it glisten. He wondered what it looked like up close, if the musky smell would differ slightly from his own, what it would be like to run his tongue up the underside to the leaking tip.

Arthur’s erection throbbed at that, heat flooding his thighs and pushing him closer. He could feel the tension coiling in his groin, and he let his imagination wander—What if they were alone in the library, if the lights went out and the doors locked and Arthur crawled under the table, taking that lovely cock in his mouth? What if those fingers twisted in his hair, not like Vivian’s when she just lightly pet him, but pulled hard enough to tug on the roots as he sucked the boy’s dick? How much would those perfect lips part then? How far back would his head tilt, exposing that beautiful throat and making his Adam’s apple jut out? Arthur wanted to see this bloke _really_ lose it, wanted to reduce him to shudders and whimpers and moans, wanted to gag on it—

Arthur had never come in the library before. But his imagination had never drifted that far either, so when his orgasm hit him suddenly, forcefully, making him gasp and pulse, Arthur was only ninety percent surprised. The other ten percent thought, _Of course you just came on yourself you fucking pervert, bloody_ look _at him!_

* * *

**7.**

At some vague point between Elena’s ninth and tenth years, she became aware of a sensation, originating in her seat, that would shiver through her when she rode astride. 

Being a logical girl and fond of shivery feelings, she neglected to wear smallclothes before her daily rides until the grooms noticed and, red-faced, tattled to her nanny. 

Which was silly, because from that day forward she simply raced out of range of her maids and peeled her undergarments off in solitude.

xxx

She enjoyed many fine afternoons that way, until the morning she was discovered by a small group of rough-looking folk who called themselves traders. 

Even after Grunhilda had chided her into hiding her favourite pastime, Elena had never felt shame for it. But then, she’d never been caught grinding against her pommel while her horse lazily cropped grass before, either. Some fine rider she must seem.

The trader in charge, who called herself Isolde, did not remark upon Elena’s rumpled state except to give her a small, hard bulb strung on leather cords before she left. 

"It’s for your saddle," she said with a sly smile. "It will help."

xxx

The bulb was hard wood covered in stretched lambskin and it took Elena almost a full year to discover she could strap it to her stirrup bars and it would catch inside her like a clever thumb while she rode.

—xxx—

The Lady Vivian wasn’t much of a horsewoman and Elena had only wanted some time to herself, but Mother Nature conspired against her with a nasty thunderstorm that sent her retreating to the stables almost as soon as she’d made her escape. 

Vivian was waiting for her there, arms crossed and mouth pinched. 

"Your skills as a hostess leave much to be desired," she said. "Come down now and take some lukewarm, tasteless refreshments with me." 

"Ehm," Elena said, shifting. 

"Now!" Vivian stamped her foot. 

Elena’s dismount made a slick sound that couldn’t be blamed on her damp riding gown. 

Vivian put her hand to her mouth. Elena squeezed her legs together and examined the floor. 

"I recognise this workmanship," Vivian breathed, gesturing toward the saddle. Elena’s head snapped up. 

The expression on Vivian’s face was disarmingly familiar: annoyance. 

"I cannot believe you never told me!" She prodded Elena sharply in the arm.

xxx

"—and it has been so _ghastly_ dull without my maid. Father forbade me bringing her," Vivian said, barely pausing for breath as she shut and bolted the door to her chambers, shoving Elena in the direction of the bed. "He could grow suspicious of a eunuch, given enough time," she added. 

"What?" Elena said, but Vivian carried on as if she hadn’t heard. She may well not have, with Elena’s face smushed into her pillow as it was. 

Vivian pulled Elena’s hips up and flipped the skirt of her dress over her head. 

"I’ve been so anxious to try this one, I can’t believe I never thought of you. You’re much sturdier than Eloise, after all," Vivian said, knelt behind her. 

And then she settled something blunt and hard against Elena’s cunt and shoved it inside.

xxx

So it seemed, with the proper motivation, the Lady Vivian had real potential as a rider. 

Her phallus was like Elena’s bulb, only much larger, with straps that tied around her waist and thighs. Vivian worked it against Elena’s insides with enthusiastic posting that left Elena gasping wetly and digging her fingers into the mattress. 

"Oh yes, yes, _yes_ ," Vivian squealed, slowing down to pant for a few minutes before doing it all again. Once. Twice. A third time. 

Elena thought she might lose her mind.

xxx

Vivian rolled her over and slid back in, looking satisfied for the first time since she’d arrived. 

"Oh Elena, you poor thing," she said, rolling her hips. The sound they made together was liquid; Elena had never felt so flush. The mattress under her rump was wet. "I know just the trick. You need to greet your woman on the mound," she said brightly, her small, clever fingers spreading Elena’s pink lips wide, "and see, you lift her hood to say hello, and—"

Elena arched off the bed, keening so sharply Vivian threw herself on top of her and covered her mouth with her slippery palm. 

"So help me, I will fit you with a bit if I have to," Vivian hissed, and Elena felt her eyes roll back as she grabbed Vivian’s arse and pulled her in tight with both hands.

* * *

**8.**

Merlin has come to the small parish of Ealdor fresh out of seminary, young and full of enthusiasm. But even he wouldn't claim that listening to old women confessing to having used the Lord's name in vain or lying about the amount of butter in their scones receipt makes for an interesting Saturday evening. 

He's quite ready to call it a day when he hears soft, shuffling footsteps beyond the veil, followed by the slight creak of someone sitting down on the hard wooden bench of the confessional. 

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been six months since my last confession." 

The voice is male, young, and a little breathless, and when Merlin catches a glimpse of golden blond hair through the screen, he realises who the penitent is. Arthur Pendragon. The major's son. Never misses a Sunday's service, which Merlin thinks is unusual for a boy of seventeen. 

"Tell me then," he encourages the youth. "What sins do you have to confess?"

Arthur swallows. "I have impure thoughts, Father." 

"Of what nature?"

"I think of touching someone. A man."

Merlin winces in sympathy. His church would want him to tell the boy how that's a mortal sin, but Merlin can't agree. 

"I can't stop staring at him," Arthur continues. "At his long pale neck and his beautiful mouth. I want to kneel down before him on the cold stone floor and part his cassock..."

Merlin's eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his own breath.

"I imagine wrapping my hand around his prick," Arthur whispers. "How hot and hard it would be. How it would feel to bend down and taste him. I want to worship him, Father, right here in this house of God. Do you... Do you think I'm depraved for having such thoughts?"

Merlin's mouth is dry. "It's not for me to pass judgement," he croaks. "If you regret your sins--"

Arthur sounds rueful. "I'm not sure I do, Father."

\---

"I've had those dreams again, Father."

Merlin closes his eyes but forces himself to speak. "Your dreams are not your fault, but you must banish them from your mind while awake."

"I'm trying, Father, but..." A shuddered breath, and then Merlin freezes when he hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down. "It's all I can think of. Him, bend over, lifting up his cassock and spreading his legs. I want to part his cheeks and lick at his hole. Feel him shiver beneath me... hear his moans echo in the silent church... watch him come apart... oh God... Father!"

\---

"Arthur, you have to actually _repent _if you--"__

__"Do you repent then, Father?"_ _

__"What--?"_ _

__"I can feel your eyes linger on me during service, you know. When I sit all demure, with my head bowed in prayer."_ _

__Merlin opens his mouth to deny it, but how can he when he's painfully hard right now, listening to the sounds Arthur makes while stroking his cock? He's the worst kind of hypocrite._ _

__"Do you touch yourself like this at night, Father?" Arthur pants. "Do you think of me while trying not to come? Don't lie. That's a sin as well."_ _

____

\---

"God, I love how tight you are around my fingers. You're so beautiful like this. I want to push my prick inside you, Father. Will you let me? Will you let me fuck you?"

A sob escapes Merlin's throat and Arthur hums. 

"Touch yourself," comes the whispered command. "Think of me fucking you hard and fast with your cassock shoved up around your hips, over the pews, right in front of God."

\---

"This has to stop." 

"You don't want it to stop."

"I do. I- I've requested a transfer." 

"What?" Arthur stumbles out of his seat and, next thing, he's on his knees in front of Merlin, looking dishevelled and staring up at him with frantic blue eyes. "But... you can't! I... I love you, Merlin!" He has never sounded so vulnerable. So hurt. "And I know you love me, too. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me!"

There's no air in Merlin's lungs. Just cold fear drowning out everything else. "I don't," he whispers, shaking his head, needing it to be true. "I can't."

When the gate of the church falls shut a moment later, the heavy sound reverberates in Merlin's heart with painful finality. He sits alone in the gloomy silence of the church for a long time, wondering whether that last lie hasn't been the worst of his sins in the end.

* * *

**9.**

Arthur walks into the bedroom he's shared with Merlin for five weeks and stops short. "Uh, I can explain."

Merlin turns, still holding the red silk panties in one hand, and just raises an eyebrow. He doesn't look pissed -- if anything, the glint in his eye looks more like the one he gets when he's planning something the kind of completely ridiculous that usually ends with copious amounts of alcohol, getting thrown out of public places, or orgasms. (Or, notably, that once that involved all three.) "Can you?" He just grins, the fucker, and smooths the fabric with one hand.

So clearly he's not worried they're some random girl's. Arthur's not sure whether to be relieved his boyfriend knows he'd never cheat or miffed that Merlin seemed to have no problem jumping to (admittedly, correct) conclusions. "Never mind, it's -- just give them here." He can feel his cheeks heating. It's not -- he just. This is _his_ , his secret thing he's never had to share with anyone.

Something on his face must give away his discomfort, for Merlin's expression softens. "Sorry," he says, and at least has the decency to look a little chastised. "I was just looking for a pair of your socks and felt something smooth and. Well."

In hindsight, hiding them in the back of his sock drawer was probably not the most brilliant of ideas. Merlin's been stealing his socks more or less the entire time they've been dating. Apparently his "posh" socks kept Merlin's feet warmer better than any of his own ratty ones. Arthur just hadn't found a better place to put them once they'd moved in together.

"Although for what it's worth," Merlin starts, more than a little bit of interest apparent in his drawl, "the thought of you in these is driving me insane."

Now that Arthur looks, he can definitely see the outline of Merlin's cock in his trousers, and the sharp jolt of arousal the sight brings is enough to break through the hazy mortification. "Oh," he says, a bit dumbly, somehow never having considered the possibility that Merlin would be interested in this. He reaches down to adjust himself, suddenly hot and a hundred per cent on board. "Yeah, all right."

He barely gets a moment to react before Merlin's fully pressed against him. The kiss is a little sloppy: Merlin's grin is too wide and he's already all but panting as one of Merlin's hands works his trousers open. "Clothes off," Merlin says against his lips, and Arthur hurriedly complies, stripping faster than he realised was possible. He sits on the edge of the bed and Merlin kneels in front of him, eyes dark and wild as he puts Arthur's feet through the holes of the panties. Every painstaking inch, every time the material catches on his leg hairs, the drag of the silk on his skin, it's all working to make Arthur impossibly hard. He lifts his hips and lets Merlin fix them into position.

When Merlin sits back on his heels to look at him in his entirety, Arthur feels half-wild with embarrassment and satisfaction and lust. He can feel his cock straining against the red silk, the head leaking against his stomach, held into place by the elastic band. He knows he must look ridiculous and obscene, but if there's anything besides approval and hunger in Merlin's eyes, Arthur can't see it.

"Fuck," Merlin says, and leans forward to nudge Arthur's legs even further apart. His words are hot puffs of air against the inside of Arthur's knees. "If you had any idea what you looked like right now." His hands tremble when they trace the edge of the fabric around Arthur's thighs.

Only a moment later, Merlin's fingers slip under the silk to wrap around Arthur's cock. Arthur's already wound so tight, he knows it's going to be an embarrassingly short time until he comes.

"Next time," Merlin says, voice hatefully even as he does _something_ with his wrist that wrests a strangled moan from Arthur, "I'm going to fuck you while you wear those. Stretch you and fill you with so much lube that you're open and leaking in those pretty panties until I can just push them to the side and slide right in."

Arthur's orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. By the time he comes back to himself, Merlin's peeling the sodden panties from him and pressing soft kisses into the side of his neck.

Next time can't come soon enough.

* * *

**10.**

Gwen looked at Merlin and then Hunith. "We’re pregnant."

"I’m so happy for the two of you!" Hunith cried. "When did the two of you start dating?"

"Eight months."

"Nine months."

They both started to panic until Gwen thought of something.

"We’ve been close for so long that we couldn’t even tell when the friendship started turning into more," Gwen explained as she slipped her hand into Merlin’s. 

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

~*~

Gwen fiddled with the bottom of her shirt while her eyes remained locked on the bathroom door. 

"Are you ready yet, Gwen?" Merlin’s voice broke out of her trance.

"Almost?" Gwen responded nervously. "Merlin, the shirts can stay on, right?"

He didn’t respond for at least a minute before she heard his awkward response. "I took mine off."

"Well I’m the one with tits so it’s staying on."

She pushed off her jeans and underwear in one go. When she finally came out of the bathroom Gwen noticed that Merlin averted his eyes.

"Merlin, it’s okay to look at me."

"So you’re sure about this, yeah?" Merlin asked.

"I want a baby, you want a baby, and you’re the only one I feel comfortable doing this with so yes. I’m sure."

Gwen approached the bed and giggled a bit at the sight of the sheet covering Merlin. The amusement faded as soon as she pulled back the blanket but in an act of brashness she straddled Merlin’s lap.

"Just imagine I’m that hot bloke Arthur from the coffee shop," she murmured as she cupped his flaccid cock.

He snorted. "I should say the same to you about his sister, Morgana."

"I’m serious, Merlin." Gwen said in a hushed tone while slowly moving her hand. "Picture Arthur giving you the best blow job of your life. His blonde hair all mused and full lips stretched to their limit. You warn him you’re going to come but he ignores the warning and swallows your seed."

"Shit, Gwen." Merlin groaned. She could feel his cock getting hard in her hand but she wasn’t done yet.

"When he pulls away your dick leaves his mouth with a wet ‘pop’. It’s then you notice some come dribbling down his chin. It prompts you to get hard all over again."

Merlin didn’t speak until he was fully hard. There was a flush on his cheeks and Gwen felt proud that her little plan had worked. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Vagina does it for you. Not dicks."

Gwen smiled cheekily and nodded towards her drawer which contained her vibrators. "I took care of that before you came over. Fantasy Morgana was a very generous lover."

"So, you’re sure about this?" Merlin asked.

"Are you?" Gwen countered.

He nodded.

"Then shut up about it. We’re doing this."

Gwen sucked in a breath as she started to lower herself onto Merlin’s cock. When it was fully inside her she closed her eyes and imagined Morgana was there kissing her neck gently while pumping her fingers in and out of her. The fantasy made her whimper.

When she started moving Gwen opened her eyes so she could look at Merlin. His eyes were both closed and if Gwen looked closely enough she could see Merlin mouthing ‘Arthur’ over and over again.

The second her eyes closed again Gwen returned to her fantasy with Morgana. She could picture her still moving her fingers inside and then using her thumb to rub her swollen clitoris. This image was the one that finally sent her over the edge.

After it was all said and done Gwen and Merlin lay side by side. It was only after the haze had faded that Gwen dared to break the silence.

"Was that good for you?"

Merlin grinned a cheeky little grin. "I’ve had better."

"Shut it, Merlin!" Gwen laughed. "So we’re good, yeah?"

"Of course, Gwen. You’re my best mate."

~*~

Hunith’s smile widened. "Was the baby planned or an unplanned blessing like Merlin was?"

"Mom!"

Gwen laughed. "An unplanned blessing."

"So when is the wedding?" Hunith asked.

It was Merlin’s turn to save face this time

"We’re not thinking that far ahead yet, mom."

It was yet another lie but Merlin and Gwen had no choice. The two of them weren’t ready to come out to either of their parents.

* * *

**11.**

Sometimes, the guilt welled up unbearably when he looked straight into her eyes.

Merlin didn’t think it strictly counted as lying, to not tell her an incredulous story of centuries past she’d have a hard time believing anyway. But they had been married for over five years now. Now and then the distance of everything unsaid would be so wide, even she could sense it.

Merlin loved Maria. He wouldn’t doubt it for a second, and wouldn’t have married her unless it were true. She deserved nothing less.

But then there were nights like tonight. When Merlin had spent fruitless hours unable to write a single word of his book due to the face with golden hair and shining blue eyes that kept fighting its way from the deep reaches of Merlin’s memories, breaking in and imposing where he wasn’t welcome – as always. Then Maria would come home from work and give her soft sigh when she found Merlin in the dark study, where he likely hadn’t moved or eaten for hours. She’d know she would have to make dinner herself after her already-long day, but she’d come kiss Merlin hello to break him out of his stupor.

After dinner, they’d sit curled up on the couch together. She would fit perfectly curled up next to him, rubbing a hand over his chest or pressing a kiss to his chin, and her warmth would slowly chase away the emptiness gnawing at Merlin from the inside out.

But Merlin well knew she would never be able to fill it. Only one could do that. And every time Merlin looked at their framed wedding photo over the fireplace or turned the ring on his finger, he wished he could drown in the guilt that he’d married for a way to pass the time.

She could never really understand, could she? There wasn’t anything Merlin could confess to, as he’d never physically been unfaithful. It was just that Merlin’s heart had been lying at the bottom of a lake for centuries now, unreachable as it slumbered along with its object of devotion. There was no way for Merlin to explain. Every time he jolted awake in bed with the scream of Arthur’s name on his lips, there simply weren’t words to describe the horror of his nightmares, where he held Arthur’s dying form in his arms again and again, helpless as the life left him and he went cold.

Was it a lie? To not share with his wife the experiences that still defined him? Was it infidelity, to be helpless to the thoughts and dreams and yearnings for another? When they held the crushing, inescapable weight of destiny?

Merlin comforted himself with Maria’s dark hair. He’d gently comb his fingers through it, kiss the corners of green eyes that looked nothing like those he remembered, and smooth his thumb over the edge of lips that were nothing like those he dreamed of. He comforted himself with Maria’s unalikeness, that it meant he couldn’t be drawn to her for any reason but her herself.

When they undressed, sometimes Merlin lost himself in her and what they shared. He always marveled at how soft her skin was, how perfect the weight of her breasts felt in his hands, how sweet her nipples tasted between his lips. Sometimes nothing made him happier than to hear her gasping, broken noises as she lay sprawled open in their bed, Merlin’s mouth pressed deep against her cunt. Merlin loved the taste of her pleasure, the squeeze of her thighs on either side of his head, the feel of her clenching when his tongue reached deep enough for her to come apart.

That made up for other times, when they would make love and even deep inside of her, his face against her neck and her scent enveloping him, another face would come before his eyes. Merlin would have to move his hips harder, hold her thighs tighter, and grit his eyes shut to hold everything in – Arthur’s name and sometimes the tears too. 

Though the tears would almost always come later. Once they’d cleaned up and Maria was holding him, stroking a hand through his hair.

"What is it, babe? Why won’t you ever tell me what’s wrong?"

Merlin would have to swallow down the memories that still destroyed him, the face of the arrogant prince and king who would forever tyrannize Merlin’s anger and every drop of his love, and choke down the bile that tasted of broken marriage vows.

"Nothing. It’s nothing."

* * *

**12.**

A soft knock on his door made Mordred smirk into his wine goblet, briefly, before his door opened and Merlin slipped inside. There was something about the heated anger that flashed in Merlin’s eyes whenever he came via Mordred’s summons. 

There was something that had struck Mordred when he saw Merlin with his hands tied and kneeling in the snow that sparked a lust in the Druid. A lust powerful enough to resort to blackmail again and again to sate it. 

"I see you got my message." Mordred pushed the chair next to him with his foot. He had stopped pouring Merlin wine weeks ago when Mordred noticed Merlin never touched the cup. 

"I still don’t know why you are doing this." Merlin scooted the chair back, out of Mordred’s reach, before allowing himself to drop onto it. Mordred’s smirk returned. Arthur didn’t give his man servant enough credit. Merlin was more like a wild horse, beautiful and bucking against anyone controlling him. 

It made Mordred all the more determined to break him. 

"Come now, Merlin, we have been through this. We both know that you would give _anything_ to avoid Arthur learning of your little secret." 

Merlin hastily put his goblet down. Twisted fingers and a gold flash in Mordred’s eyes precluded Merlin and his chair being dragged over the stone floor until Merlin’s knees bumped lightly into Mordred’s.

Mordred leaned closer to Merlin, finger tracing the sharp angles along Merlin’s jawline.   
"And before you get into the same old, tired script, he hasn’t shown complete trust in you, _has he_ , Merlin?"

Merlin’s fingers dug into the wood of the chair. Mordred knew that Arthur was the one sore spot that Merlin could never overlook when poked. Attacking Merlin was one thing, but attacking Arthur changed all the rules of the game. 

It was the secret that they both know. Merlin’s, _Emrys’s_ , need to protect Arthur. A fate written in the stars. 

"The question, then, is why do you still come?" Mordred shifted the direction of his fingers, to trace Merlin’s hairline down the nape of his neck. "Surely the _great Emrys_ could take out a lowly knight like myself."

"Why must we always play this game, Mordred?"

Reaching with his free hand, Mordred untied Merlin’s neckerchief, tossing the rag into the corner. Merlin’s sharp angles didn’t stop at his face. Merlin’s raised collarbone, just under his pale skin, begged to be kissed. 

Mordred stood, pushing his chair back with his legs, giving himself room to stand. Sliding his fingers up from the nape of Merlin’s neck, Mordred grasped the hair on the back of Merlin’s head and tugged his head back. 

"You know what I think?" Mordred moved his face to mere inches from Merlin’s own. "I don’t think you come here when I call you because you like my cock in you. I am not that delusional. I think you come here to be the martyr, to let me use your body if it means keeping me close."

Merlin’s eyes widened slightly, his breath quickening. Mordred loved the fear in Merlin’s eyes. His blood heated in his veins. "What part do I play in this destiny of yours, Merlin?"

Mordred covered Merlin’s mouth with his own, twisting Merlin’s hair in his hold. He encircled Merlin’s neck with his free hand, feeling Merlin’s pulse race under his fingertips.

"One day, I will learn your secrets about me, Merlin."

Merlin grabbed Mordred, pulling him back in for a kiss as his other hand pulled up Mordred’s shirt and pawed at him until he felt skin. Sliding his hands up Mordred’s spine, Merlin pushed the shirt up. Breaking the kiss, Mordred pulled back to allow Merlin to tug his shirt off. 

Merlin tossed his shirt over to where Mordred had tossed Merlin’s handkerchief. Now, Merlin wore a smirk, thinking the tables had turned into his favor. "Today is not that day, Mordred." 

Mordred hooked his hands into Merlin’s shirt, hauling him out of the chair. "No, today isn’t." Mordred followed Merlin to the floor, reaching for the fastenings to Merlins breaches. If this was the way Merlin wanted to play it tonight, Mordred would be happy to oblige. It was, after all, why he backed Merlin into the proverbial corner to begin with.

* * *

**13.**

"You know I don’t like video games, Merlin! I don’t see why we can’t do something else today!"

"Arthur, I played football with you and your mates last weekend. Football! So you can play freaking Mario Kart with me today!"

"I’ve never even played this game before! I don’t know what all these buttons mean, Merlin!"

"Don’t worry, it’s really easy to get the hang of, and we’re going to have so much fun, I promise!"

Merlin turned on the Wii, taking the time that his back was turned to hide a devious smirk. He composed himself, assuming the perfect persona of innocence as he handed Arthur a controller and set up the game. Merlin picked their characters and helped Arthur choose a kart. He didn’t even trick him into picking a motorbike for the first time. He wasn’t _that_ mean.

"Do you want to pick the first track?" Merlin offered strategically. 

"No, just pick something easy for the first go." Arthur replied, barely paying attention as he grabbed a soda from the nearby mini fridge. Just as planned. Merlin casually selected the Special Cup, and scrolled down to Rainbow Road. As the three second count down began, Merlin graciously took the time to explain how to play to Arthur. 

"Okay just remember press 2 to go, 1 for reverse, turn the remote to steer, B button to use the box thingies." He rushed out, some of the words jumbling together as Merlin made sure to hit the gas when the countdown got to 2, so that he could get the secret speed boost.

"Wha-" Arthur struggled not to spit out his drink, and fumbled for his controller, pressing the button he thought was the gas while his eyes watered and throat burned from the soda. His kart immediately sped backwards off the track and fell into space.

Arthur slowly turned to look wide-eyed at Merlin, who was giggling like a mad man, sides heaving, shoulders shaking, but somehow his grip on the controller was still steady, and glancing at the T.V. Arthur saw that Merlin was already in first place. And he noticed his character was somehow alive again! Arthur began smashing buttons furiously, cursing all the while, damning the game, his character, and especially his conniving boyfriend. 

An hour later, and Arthur had finally mastered driving in the correct direction, but could not for the life of him catch up to Merlin, who actually fell back intentionally to shoot those damned mystery box things at Arthur. 

"Goddamnit Merlin!! I WAS ABOUT TO BE IN 9TH PLACE, AND NOW WHERE AM I? FUCKING 12TH AGAIN!" Arthur was losing it. He was going ape shit over this game, and he couldn’t calm down. Mario Kart is _serious_.

Merlin laughed crazily, gripping his controller so tightly his palms were red and sweaty. He had maneuvered his kart right behind Arthur’s, and with one more burst of speed- "FUCKING YES, SPIN LIKE A BALLERINA, BITCH!" Merlin screeched, just as Arthur wailed, "WHAT THE HELL MERLIN, THAT’S THE THIRD FUCKING GREEN SHELL YOU’VE HIT ME WITH!" 

Finally regaining control of the little car on screen, Arthur continued to mutter, "How the hell are you even aiming those things anyway, you prat."

Merlin sped up, weaving in and out of the other karts on the screen, and turned to Arthur saying, "Because I’m fucking magical," right as he drove across the finish line in first place.

Arthur just put his head in his hands and gave up. There was no way he could win; the universe must be plotting against him. "That was NOT ‘easy to get the hang of’ Merlin, you lying twat." 

"Don’t be a sore loser! I wish I had recorded your face on Rainbow Road…" Merlin trailed off in chuckles, only stopping at Arthur’s sour look. 

"Okay, okay princess, let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll make it up to you," Merlin said, taking Arthur by the hand and leading him toward the hallway. Arthur wasn’t really angry; he just expected a rematch in the future. But he was willing to let Merlin make it up to him anyways; his boyfriend wasn’t the only one who could be devious.

"You were a princess too, Merlin, or should I say _Peach_?" Arthur shot back, although he followed Merlin willingly enough.

"Oooh, kinky. Now, shut up and fuck me, _Daisy_."

* * *

**14.**

Arthur winced as the needle Gwen was threading through the cuff on his wrist came a little too close to his skin. She shot him an apologetic smile and continued working, pulling the fabric out so there was a bit more room.

"I really don’t understand why my clothing needs to be engraved." Arthur complained.

"King Balinor seems to be very fond of certain traditions" Morgana just smirked from where she leaned against the doorway, watching the spectral. 

"Yes, and it’s no problem really." Gwen tied off the thread that she had placed. It had been sent from kingdom Arthur would wed into in the morning. "See, done already."

Arthur shrugged out of the ceremonial coat, passing the heavy material to Gwen. "Marvelous," he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. 

"Thank you Gwen." Morgana said pointedly and Arthur flushed.

"Yes, thank you Guinevere." He shot a glare at Morgana as he pulled on her arm and dragged her out of the room. She laughed falling in step beside him.

"For someone being wed tomorrow you are in a foul mood."

"Thank you for reminding me." He couldn’t help but grimace. He’d been betrothed to Balinor’s heir and only son since he was six. It had never bothered him before.

***

It was simple for him to slip out of the castle. He knew the guards rotations because he was the one that set them. 

The establishment he found himself at was on the outskirts of Camelot, the sign hung by one hinge and was rotting and one of the windows had been replaced by a board. The interior was moderately clean though and Arthur was easily able to grab a pitcher and a table.

He was going to start celebrating his impending nuptials early. 

He’d only made it through his second glass when there was a commotion in the doorway, Arthur stood to his feet and cursed inwardly as the brawl started spreading across the bar.

Someone feel into him and Arthur turned ready to defend himself.

"Sorry, so sorry," the man apologizing had a mop of dark hair on his head and the most ridicules ears he had ever seen. He also looked about as tense as Arthur felt. 

"It’s alright," Arthur grabbed his arm to help him balance as people shoved around him. "You wouldn’t happen to know of another way out of here would you?" A smile lit the other man’s face and he nodded to where one of barmaids was exiting through a door off the bar.

***

"Is it always like that there?" Arthur’s arms were around the stranger’s shoulders as they looked back to where the only other window shattered as someone was thrown out of it.

"I have no idea," the man admitted "that was my first time there." He leaned in closer to Arthur "My name is Emrys."

"Ar.." Arthur paused his mind blanking and he flushed "Armin," coming the first name that came to mind. Emrys was a warm weight against his side and Arthur was sick of thinking about tomorrow. "This is rather forward of me but would you happen to have a room nearby?"

Emrys eyes flashed in surprise and a flush worked its way up the long line of his neck. "I can find one."

***

Arthur gripped Emrys hair, pulling on it so he could get to his throat. He bit at the flesh on display as he pounded into him, both of them moaning. He reached around with his other hand to fist at his cock, pulling it tightly as Emrys spilled over his fist.

With a few more thrusts he came, pressing a kiss to a bare shoulder.

Emrys laughed and curled up against his side. "That was fantastic."

Arthur couldn’t stop smiling.

***

"I still can’t believe you’ve never even met him." Morgana adjusted his collar, smoothing it down before turning to stand beside him at the altar. The crown on his head felt almost as heavy as the expensive coat he wore. 

"The roads between his kingdom and Camelot are dangerous," Arthur stood up straight, watching the doors nervously "father wouldn’t ask them to risk it." Arthur had never really bought that, he had always expected the engagement to be called off.

"Well I hope he isn’t ugly." Morgana muttered as the music started up.

Arthur didn’t let himself panic watching as the doors opened.

The man that stood between King Balinor and Queen Hunith was someone Arthur had met. Arthur had met _Merlin_ last night at the pub.

* * *

**15.**

**Delicious Secret**

It was all Will’s fault. No, really.

Will practically _forced_ Merlin to go to the show that night, and Merlin had asked Mordred and Gwaine to go to, because Arthur said he was busy.

Despite his age (22) and his orientation (gay, thanks!), Merlin had never been to a drag show. Will loved them, and now that he was here, in London, he was determined Merlin would love them, too. 

The performers were great, Merlin admitted, and they were having fun. A whole litany of ladies had already strutted the cat walk – Miss Dee Meanor, Auntie Bellum, Grace Full, Peach Schnapps, Rue D. Day, and others he couldn’t recall. The announcer called the last competitor, and Merlin joined his friends in cheering for "the lovely DEEEEEEE Licious!!!!"

Slinking down the cat walk in a sequined purple gown, working black opera gloves, and dripping with diamonds, she was exquisite, and somehow (despite her blonde hair) reminded Merlin of Morgana. She even looked a bit like her, like a female…

_Arthur._

Merlin felt himself reeling, and looked quickly at his friends. None of them seemed to be paying that much attention. Certainly none of them seemed aware that their friend was currently strutting her stuff to "Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend" under stage lighting. 

It was all Merlin could do to keep Arthur’s secret while the winners were announced. Contest over, Gwaine and Will decided to hit Camelot, and Mordred headed home to his girlfriend. Merlin went home, and sat on the couch waiting, beer in hand, for his roommate. Arthur was bi, had always been, but they’d never had anything. Well, Merlin had a little crush in uni, but that had been over years ago, and they’d kissed that one time at that party, but that was because Freya had named their dare, and she was a pervy bitch. He _loved_ Arthur, he _did_. Just not like that. Maybe. 

But now, Merlin was telling off his half-hard cock, and trying desperately to ignore the mental vision of Arthur’s shiny red lips stretched around his dick.

*

Arthur entered the flat dressed as he always was. He didn’t look the least shifty until he saw Merlin. "Why are you still up?" he asked. "It’s two in the morning." 

Merlin eyed him over the beer bottle. "We went to Avalon tonight for the drag show," he said.

Arthur’s eyes suddenly found a point over Merlin’s right shoulder riveting. "Ah. That’s… different," he said.

"You might even say it was DEEEEEE Licious," Merlin said, mimicking the announcer’s introduction. 

Arthur licked his lips. "Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to say," he began.

"You have a bit of lipstick in the corner of your mouth," he said. Arthur reached a hand up, a very telling hand. Merlin was across the room in seconds, right up in Arthur’s personal space, reaching up with one hand to smear Dee Licious’ cherry red lippy across Arthur’s cheek. 

Arthur’s cheeks reddened and his breath hitched. "Look, Merlin," he started, but didn’t finish. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Merlin.

Merlin’s lips grazed Arthur’s earlobe as he murmured, "Yes, delicious?"

Arthur keened, then, grasping Merlin’s hip. "God, don’t do that unless you mean it," he said. 

"Do you want me, Delicious?" Merlin asked.

"Since Uni," Arthur said. 

Merlin pulled back, surprised. "You never said!"

Arthur shrugged. "Even after we kissed that time, you didn’t see me like that. _Everyone_ knows. Why do you think Freya made you kiss me?"

Merlin felt like all the air had been drawn out of his lungs. "Seriously?" he managed.

Arthur leaned in and kissed him. 

Merlin still felt stunned. Arthur’s secret…. no, both of his secrets. It was almost too much. He started to pull away.

"I don’t… Arthur."

"Stay with me, Merlin," Arthur said. "We’re still us. Unless you don’t want…."

"God, no," Merlin said. "I mean. Arthur, I never thought… you always date the _pretty_ people."

"You’re gorgeous, Merlin," Arthur said, earnestly. Then he grinned. "I’m pretty enough for two, anyway."

Merlin grinned then, and pulled Arthur to him with a hand in the blonde hair. "Prat," he said with affection.

"Now, stop having a crisis so you can suck my cock," Arthur said.

Merlin’s flagging erection gave a twitch at that. "I want your mouth on mine."

"Later. I have another use in mind for this," Arthur said, caressing Merlin’s bulge. He took Merlin’s hand and dragged him down the hall to his room, shedding clothes all the way.

* * *

**16.**

Merlin doesn’t know that I keep the secret from him.

I close the door of my chambers, taking care to latch the lock behind my back. In the candlelight, I see that he’s already made it to bed long before me. The journey back to Camelot from the far reaches of the kingdom has exhausted us both—another search for my sister without success. In the dim quiet, one slender foot pokes out from beneath the covers. It lazily hangs in the air like the dragon sparks I’ve seen him create when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I lean back against the solid wood of the door and close my eyes.

My father’s words wreath around my head like smoke from a damp wood fire. He will not tolerate sorcery and the pure evil he insists will flood the kingdom if its practitioners are not stopped. The musky scent of my chambers fills me with the first peace I’ve felt since I stood before my father for half the afternoon listening to his angry edict before the council. I take a deep breath and let the comfort of familiarity soothe me.

I exhale to push my father’s words away.

Stripping off my tunic, I sit on the bed carefully so as not to wake Merlin. My boots land silently on the stone floor. The mattress dips beneath my weight. I can’t resist sliding my hand underneath Merlin’s bare heel. His skin feels cool against my warm palm, but he doesn’t stir.

The fear of my secret blooms in my chest.

I brush my thumb across Merlin’s instep and close my eyes to shut out Merlin’s screams as the imagined flames lick at his slim feet. The villagers shout their rage, demanding a slow death for the sorcerer. Merlin’s cries etch themselves into my thoughts while the pyre blazes with the fire my father has kindled beneath him.

Before my tears can fall, I remember that I must keep my secret to ensure Merlin’s safety from Uther and his mandates.

Merlin emits a little snuffle when I give his toes a squeeze. I gently push at his foot until he draws his leg beneath the covers. I smooth my hand over the blanket, grateful for the opportunity to protect Merlin from the cold. If I had my way, I’d be strong enough in battle so Merlin never had to use his magic—he’d never have to risk being caught.

I still my movements and watch his lips curl into the smile I know so well.

Sometimes it scares me that the lips from which the ancient words spill when he shakes the earth with his power are the same lips that suckle at my cock when Merlin favours me with his attention. The voice that murmurs encouragement when I fuck him is the same voice that spews the mysterious words of dragon speech.

He doesn’t know that I’ve seen Kilgharrah.

I stand to push off my breeches and smallclothes before slipping into bed beside Merlin. The candle flame wavers with the flurry of shifting blankets. I wrap one arm around Merlin’s waist. The other finds its home beside his head where I can pet his hair. He awakens enough to touch my hand with the same clever fingers that spark lightning against my enemies. I take his wrist, just as elegant as it would be if bound by a rope to the stake that haunts my dreams. I bury my nose into his neck and shush him back to sleep. I breathe in the smooth shoulders that carry the weight of his secret, which must be as frightening to bear as my own.

I am bound to be loyal to my father.

If I commit treason by divulging my secret, the noose that cinches around my neck will cause more tears to fall from Merlin’s eyes than from my own.

* * *

**17.**

"Arthur's keeping us late," Percival said. His was voice low and Gwaine could hear the urgent voices of stressed out men in suits in the background.

Gwaine bit back the pathetic whine forming on his tongue. He knew Percival loved his job and he didn't want to be _that_ boyfriend, so he told Percival to not work too hard and that he'd see him tomorrow. 

Sure, Gwaine could call friends or go to the pub alone, but he was horny, and he was trying to take this exclusivity thing seriously for once. He liked Percival. Kind of, maybe a lot.

So he got onto his favourite porn site, the one he paid a ridiculous monthly subscription to. Yes, he could easily find porn for free, but he didn't _like_ amateur porn. The point wasn't just to watch pegs inserting into holes. Good porn had production value. Angles, lighting, setting, responsiveness and chemistry between the 'actors'—these things mattered. Few people understood pornography the way Gwaine did. He didn't like to throw around the word 'aficionado', but, well, it fit. 

Percival wasn't at all alarmed by Gwaine's dildo collection, probably because Percival was bigger than all of them, but when he saw Gwaine's porn stash, he'd got a bit judgemental. So it was sort of spitefully that Gwaine logged on. Percival ditched Gwaine for work, but pornos would never forsake him. 

Gwaine was in the mood for something a little different, so he went to the archive and started searching back a few years. 

Rugby Lads? Perfect.

It started out with some stock footage of men playing rugby, before flashing to a steamy locker room with men wrapped in towels leaving the showers. The camera was low so you couldn't see their heads as they dropped towels and got dressed. Gwaine gave it a point for the voyeuristic touch. 

Then the scene focused on the two men in front. They were both extremely fit—gym fit, not rugby fit, but when it came to porn, fit was fit. The taller one dropped his towel and went over to the bench as he stroked himself. His pubes were totally dry, which made Gwaine dock a point. He didn't ask for much in the way of authenticity in his porn, but come on, did the man take a _dry_ shower? 

Once he got over the dry pubes, Gwaine gasped. 

"I _know_ that cock."

That was when the camera panned up and, sure enough, Gwaine was looking right at his boyfriend. Percival looked younger, his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking him. 

Gwaine was partly outraged because surely this was a _massive_ lie by omission, but mostly he was turned on. Percival's cock was made for porn. 

"Good match today, mate," the other bloke said. 

"You had some impressive tackles," Percival said, his voice more gravelly than his everyday speaking voice.

Other Bloke noticed Percival reclining on the bench, legs spread, cock hard. 

"Talk about impressive. Is that all for me?"

"Only if you come and get it." 

Gwaine rolled his eyes and made a mental note to mock Percival once his anger and horniness had subsided. 

He had to admit, watching another muscly lad impale himself on his boyfriend's cock was actually quite arousing. Gwaine stroked himself almost without realizing. It was a whole new way of seeing Percival. He never knew what it looked like to have Percival's hands digging into his hips or what his own asshole looked like as it swallowed Percival's—fine, it _was_ impressive—erection. 

The shot changed (another point docked for poor continuity) and Other Bloke's position was reversed. Still buried inside him, Percival stood up and bent Other Bloke over. Percival started rolling his hips obscenely, his thighs flexing with every thrust, while Other Bloke tried to hang on for the ride. 

Gwaine knew just what the man was feeling—having Percival totally in control, the beautiful sound of skin slapping hard against skin, sweat forming at the back of his neck—and he couldn't look away as he gripped his cock even tighter.

Gwaine almost went to get a dildo, but just the thought of Percival filling him up so full it sometimes made his eyes water turned out to be enough to get him off. 

After he wiped himself down, Gwaine grabbed his mobile and sent off a quick text. 

_Had to dock Rugby Lads 3 points for quality. But the top was rather 'impressive'._

* * *

**18.**

Getting back into dating isn't so bad, Gwen decides as Freya's bare breasts push against hers. Two hours ago Gwen was walking into the bar alone, telling herself it would be a good night, a step in the right direction, even if she didn't end up talking to anybody.

Fuck talking. Gwen opts for soft, wordless cries as she watches Freya's pretty, pouty mouth close over her nipple. Gwen gasps for air as her skin goes hard and shivery all over .

After fifteen months on her own her instinct now is to grab her own crotch, press against that ache for a few seconds of relief before reaching for her vibrator. Instead she goes to her knees and pushes up Freya's skirt, presses her face against Freya's damp knickers and smiles to hear Freya's answering moan. She's just hooking a finger under the elastic when Freya's phone goes off.

It's just one chirp, not an insistent ring. But Freya goes still and then, to Gwen's amazement, steps back, pushes her skirt down and goes for her purse.

For a fucking text.

"Um, I need to go."

An hour later, having masturbated to furious orgasm, sent Merlin some twenty miserable texts, and eaten the last of the chocolate cake, Gwen turns on the news.

"…Like some kind of giant cat, all black and sleek," says the blonde girl, her face a mess with dried tears and makeup. "With wings! And it saved me! That man would've killed me if it hadn't come in time!"

Gwen raises an eyebrow.

*

"You can go harder," she says as Freya curls two fingers against her labia.

Freya's been full of apologies – though not any actual explanations – since Gwen tracked her down again. Unsure of how to deal with an obviously touchy subject, Gwen said she'd accept sexual favors as penance.

"Or sharper, if you want. Use your nails, I don't mind."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm pretty tough," Gwen says cheerfully, thrusting into Freya's hand. She knows better than to bring up _the last girl I dated_ while they're both naked, but damn if it isn't tempting.

"There's so much you don't know about me," Freya whispers. Her hand goes annoyingly slack.

 _Oh, go angst on a rooftop why don't you,_ Gwen doesn't say, pulling Freya down for a kiss instead. "That's good, I like surprises."

*

"No fucking way," says Merlin.

"You wouldn't _actually_ have to attack me. Just kind of –"

"I know, threaten, I get it. Look, strange as it may seem to you, I'm not willing to risk getting torn to shreds by a flying cat monster just so you can move your relationship forward with a satisfying dramatic reveal."

"But my sunny disposition and not-so-subtle hints are getting us nowhere! Her getting to save me would be _so perfect_ , don't you see?"

"Not gonna happen, Gwen. Maybe you should ask Morgana."

"That's not funny."

Her tone is sharp enough that he looks mildly repentant, but she knows he's mostly right. Her sunny disposition's been pretty useless so far, but that doesn't mean dramatics are the answer.

*

"So," Gwen says, after a deep breath but before they start taking their clothes off this time, "the last girl I dated was Morgana le Fay."

"Oh."

"We were together for three years."

Freya's eyes are wide, her words slow. "So you knew her before –"

"Yes. She told me about her powers. And it was… there were definitely some things I could have handled better. Who knows, maybe if I had she wouldn't have been quite so quick to go down the path that she did. The point is, I've been through some pretty extreme stuff, and I don't shy away from that. I'd probably still be with her it weren't for, you know..."

"The villainy?"

Gwen nods, sets her hands gently at Freya's hips. "The super part I was fine with! When I thought she was gonna be a hero I was all ready to be her sidekick. I honestly think I'd rock."

Freya shakes her head. "I could never put you in that kind of danger. You're so sweet and –"

"Not to burst your bubble, but I'm a queer black woman and, well, you know what kind of city we live in. I can figure out for myself when something's too dangerous and when it's worth it."

She leans in for a kiss and it's long, quiet, full.

"Be worth my while, Freya. Be my hero."

* * *

**19.**

Arthur wakes to delicious heat.

Merlin's watching him. His lips slip off with a pop when Arthur looks down.

"I love the taste of you,"

Arthur groans, and lets his head fall back again, following Merlin with his eyes as he crawls up, over Arthur's body to bring their lips together.

Arthur needs friction, but Merlin skilfully evades his every effort. Arthur can feel the playful grin against his lips.

Arthur growls and grabs his skinny arse, pulling and anchoring him flush against the length of his body.

A finger passes between Arthur's cheeks and he stills, letting his legs fall open, eyes falling shut.  
The finger slips in, and Arthur tilts his hips up, breathing uneven.

"I love to make you squirm,"

Another finger joins the first, and Merlin slides them in and out, teasing, until Arthur's twitching underneath him.

" _Please_ ,"

The fingers crook, and then disappear, and Arthur is left dizzy with want. He opens his eyes and Merlin's sitting stroking himself, spreading lube over his cock and staring with blown eyes.

Arthur grabs him and pulls him down. Merlin lines up, and slowly sinks in.

The strokes are long and deep, taking Arthur's breath away with an "ah, ah, ah,".

"I love the sounds you make under me."

Arthur shifts his hips, Merlin's movements become faster and harder, and then Arthur's tumbling from a precipice, his eyes screwed tight.

-

Merlin's fingers brush lazily over muscles, eyes wide, and Arthur's heart gives a painful, happy squeeze. He closes his eyes and lets himself float.

Merlin is an artist. His mind works in unbelievable ways, imagining complex and meaningful shapes in great detail, and then bringing them to fruition. He lives with an intensity Arthur can't begin to understand. Arthur can't quite believe how lucky he is that Merlin's _his_.

Arthur gasps and his eyes fly open when his nipple is tweaked.

Merlin grins a wicked, almost predatory grin that makes Arthur's breath hitch.

"You puzzle me."

"You never fathomed me out?"

"No."

Merlin's face softens for some reason, and Arthur has to kiss him.

-

Arthur barely has time to grab breakfast on the way out, pulling on his uniform trousers and spilling coffee over an anatomy book of Merlin’s left carelessly on the kitchen counter.

He arrives at the station only five minutes late, but Gwaine is waiting with the autopsy report on the latest body in the case he's been investigating.

He steels himself, reminding himself he has Merlin's art show to look forward to tonight.

It's a gruesome read.

They had found the body hanging, strung up like a puppet down an alley.

Arthur tries to discern something new, but come up blank.

All the victims are dissected, albeit superficially. The killer doesn't know precisely what he's doing, but he's getting better.

Most of the victims had organs missing. Organs which, worryingly, always seemed to be edible, as Gwaine had pointed out.

And most confusingly, the hands are always missing, sliced off at the wrists.

Arthur sighs and buries his face in his hands.

-

Arthur supposes he's lucky to have Gwaine to distract him over lunch.

He supposes.

He still finds himself tuning out the inane chatter though. Gwaine's going on about a new girlfriend, some uncharacteristic sappy nonsense about twin souls.

"Merlin says the tragedy of life is that to souls can never truly touch, only signal vainly through the puppets that are our bodies. It's the subject of his next art show." Arthur says, because it's about the only thing he can think of to say.

"That's tonight then?"

"Yeah,"

"I might pop in, see what he's been up to these last few months" Gwaine says with a grin, and he's not jealous, but Arthur's heart drops a little at that.

-

He arrives at the show and grabs a glass of champagne at the door.

Merlin's work grabs his attention as soon as he enters the room, because that's what Merlin's art _does_.

A huge pair of ivory angel's wings, beautifully detailed, curving out away from the wall almost lovingly.

They draw him across the room.

Standing under the arc of the wings, they don't look as soft and welcoming.

Arthur had to reach out and touch the structure under the feathery fabric covering the wings,

It's made out of human finger bones.

* * *

**20.**

To an outsider it would seem like a big, fucking cliche, Merlin thought as he stripped and got into the shower. Not the gay thing, or the virginity, but the fact that Arthur was the athletics coach. People would say he was a pervert. That he got into the profession to ogle at boys in flimsy track shorts. That he lured a different boy into the shower every year. That wasn't Arthur.

Arthur, with his morals and his chivalry. Not yet thirty and already a lost career in the military after he lost hearing in one ear in an attack. 

Arthur was broody. A sadness clung to him. Merlin suspected the betrayal of his sister, Morgana, had hurt him deeply. 

That is why _this_ couldn't be wrong. Not when Merlin was the one to put a smile on Arthur's face.

A smile was exactly what he got when Arthur joined him in the shower and Merlin welcomed him with a long, hungry kiss. He switched on the tap of the shower, hot water cascading on and around them. Merlin watched rivulets of water dripping from Arthur's beautiful body. He couldn't help himself; he had to touch the man everywhere he could. 

"Missed me?" Arthur asked, looking at him intently. Merlin halted his movements, cock perking up in attention as he saw that Arthur knelt down in front of him. 

"Yes, yes, yes." Merlin muttered. 

Arthur laughed, yet in his eyes Merlin could still see that tinge of sadness, and something worse; guilt. 

"Stop looking at me as if I'm some kind of illigal drug."

"That is exactly what you are," Arthur said, still looking up at Merlin starting to stroke Merlin's cock. It was embarrassingly hard already. "Sinful and oh so addictive," Arthur continued, before he took Merlin all the way into his mouth. 

Not allowing Merlin to come, Arthur pulled off in time. Merlin knew what was coming next. But when Arthur wanted to turn him around, Merlin stopped him. "I want to see your face," he said. He wanted it to be different this time. He wanted to watch Arthur's pleasure, wanted Arthur to see how much Merlin wanted him.

After a second of hesitation, Arthur nodded and they moved to find a better position. 

Arthur always entered him slowly, giving Merlin ample time to adjust. Even now Merlin wasn't a virgin anymore, Arthur still seemed to expect him to break. Merlin enjoyed the sensation of being filled inch by inch, but he quickly craved more friction once Arthur was fully inside of him. When Arthur still moved agonizingly slow, he let out a loud groan in protest.

Arthur's hand covered his mouth in an instant. "Shh! Do you want to janitor to hear?" 

Merlin thought of Gaius, the nearly-retired janitor, walking in on them like this and he let out a hysteric giggle the moment Arthur's hand was gone. Arthur glared. 

"I can't help it, you massive tease. Move!" Merlin huffed.

"You dare address your teacher like that?" But there was laughter in his voice. Arthur did comply, setting a steady pace that filled Merlin to the brim with pleasure. 

This time, Merlin could watch when Arthur came. His expression was pure and unguarded. It was all it took to get Merlin over the edge himself.

In an affair like this there was much to fear. They weren't legal, Merlin couldn't stand to think of the consequences if they were ever discovered. They weren't even safe, something they had quietly ignored since that wild, frenzy of their first time, when condoms had been the last thing on their minds. But what he feared most was that maybe it wasn't even real. That it would be over before they ever really got started.

But when they got out of the shower, Arthur kissed him tenderly, towelling Merlin dry. It felt intimate and perfect. As if they had all the time in the world. This couldn't _not_ be real.

* * *

**21.**

"Welcome to the medieval Camelot exhibition. As we walk through the remains of the castle, you'll be learning the truth behind some of history's biggest names. Please remain with the group and note that flash photography is prohibited.

Our first stop is the throne room. Here you would find King Arthur surrounded by his greatest advisors, including the wizard Merlin, the wise old man who raised Arthur from infancy. Here they discussed everything from grain production to battle tactics against the wicked Morgan.

***

Merlin trips over the hem of his robe and crashes hard onto the throne behind him.

"That'll leave a bruise."

"I'll give you a bruise."

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a promise."

"Both," Arthur replies before he reattaches himself to Merlin's neck.

"You're eager today," Merlin chuckles.

Arthur gives no response except to shuck his trousers, lift Merlin's robes, and climb onto his lap.  
"Are you sure you're rea-," the rest of Merlin's words are drowned out in a moan as Arthur lowers himself onto Merlin's cock.

"Fingered myself during the council meeting. Couldn't wait to see you fall apart under me."

Merlin whines and grabs at Arthur's arse, digging his nails into the skin. Arthur increases the tempo and the throne shakes beneath them.

"You're so beautiful like this."

Merlin's eyes flash gold and comes with a full body shudder. Arthur drinks the sight in and lets his own release land on Merlin's robes. He leans back to admire his work; Merlin with his chest heaving, naked from the waist down, sweat dripping down his temples. He pulls off with a groan and extends a hand to Merlin.

"A cleaning spell, if you please."

***

Follow me up the stairs and we'll come to Queen Guinevere's chambers. Guinevere was the daughter of King Leodegrance, and was trained in the ways of court since birth. After one too many abductions by Morgan, King Arthur assigned his most trusted knights, Sir Lancelot and Sir Leon, to protect her at all times.

***

Gwen can't help the moan that falls from her lips. Beside her, Morgana presses her mouth gently to Gwen's nipple. Between her legs, Lancelot mouths up and down her slit, circling her nub and flicking his tongue over it with steady strokes. Behind him, Leon thrusts into him slowly, his hips moving in lazy circles as if he's in no hurry to finish. 

As Lancelot brings her over the edge, Morgana opens her mouth and receives Gwen's sloppy kisses, more tongue than technique, and strokes a hand through her hair as she comes down off her high. There's some shuffling and Gwen finds herself on the bottom of the pile, Morgana's cunt above her face, Leon pushing at Gwen's entrance, Lancelot fondling Morgana's breasts. As Gwen takes her first taste of Morgana that evening, she reflects on how glad she is they finally sorted themselves out.

***

Please mind the step as we make our way to the knight's training field. The true mark of a knight was staying chaste and virtuous until they earned the favour of their maiden.

***

Percival bends Gwaine over the bench and lines up carefully. Gwaine, never one for patience, ruts back against him, throwing him off balance. He overbalances forward to save himself, driving into Gwaine hard. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Gwaine turns his head to face him and gives him a cheeky grin. "It's going to take a lot more than that to hurt me love. Now move."

***

Our last stop on today's tour is the great hall. This was where all manner of banquets and festivities were held, including the wedding of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. We hope you've enjoyed yourselves today and learnt a little about the truth of the of the past. Don't forget to stop by Ye Olde Gift Shoppe on the way out.

***

The peasants flow out onto the street in massive hoards, all waving banners or throwing petals. At the altar, Geoffrey waits for the king and the court sorcerer to join him, Merlin having flat out refused to walk down the aisle. Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, and Leon stand together in the front row wearing matching colours. Percival and Gwaine stand behind them, leaning against each other. When the happy couple finally make an appearance, they both look a little dishevelled. Whatever their appearance, it certainly doesn't stop the crowd from giving a great cheer when the handfasting is complete.

* * *

**22.**

Gwaine couldn’t sleep. The sun had set hours ago, but Gwaine just couldn't keep his eyes closed. He lay there, contemplating sneaking to the kitchens for a snack, when he heard yet another growl from his abdomen. Deciding that enough was enough, he climbed out of bed and padded across his chambers and through the door, only to discover he wasn't the only one awake. Up the hall, he saw Percival exit his chambers, glance quickly around him, and continue to the stairwell. Gwaine, simply out of curiosity, wanted to see what Percival was up to, and decided to remain unseen for the time being. 

And together they went, Percival on his tip-toes and Gwaine ducking into corners whenever Percival paused. They reached the kitchen, and although it was only dimly illuminated by a single torch, Percival seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He quickly strode across the room to the cabinet on the far wall. From Gwaine’s vantage point – peeking around a corner – he could see Percival digging around for something, but couldn’t work out what. That is, until Percival pulled out a jar of syrup with an air of triumph. He went back to the countertop, and lightly hopped up so that he was perched on the edge with his back to Gwaine. He unscrewed the lid of the syrup, placed it on the counter next to him, and reached in front of him. Gwaine couldn't make out what Percival was doing, all he could hear was the rustling of fabric. He started as Percival let out a low moan and hurriedly dipped his fingers into the jar. By this point, Gwaine worked out what exactly was happening and couldn’t help the stirring feeling in his groin. If he was going to reveal himself, his lust-addled brain decided that now was the time to do it. 

"Perce?" Gwaine stepped out of the shadows. Percival whipped around, staring at him with eyes wide open and guilt plastered across every line of his face. Gwaine hummed and stepped closer. 

"What have you got there?" he beckoned to the syrup that Percival was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide. Which was utterly ridiculous of course in wake of the fact that his cock was at full mast, as if on display. Percival’s eyes were looking anywhere but Gwaine, his jaw slack and trying to form words that weren’t coming. Gwaine smirked, and slowly came forward until he was in front of Percival. He picked up the syrup jar, "Hm. Raspberry. My favorite." He dropped to his knees, all the while feeling Percival’s intense gaze on him. Scooping some syrup onto his fingers, he took Percival’s cock in hand and slathered the syrup up and down, making sure to cover every inch. The aroma of the syrup mixed with Percival’s musky scent was intoxicating, so much that he almost became dizzy. He leant down and proceeded to lick from the base to the tip, hearing a sharp gasp when he reached the head. He did so again and again until there wasn’t any syrup left, feeling Percival’s thighs clenching and unclenching beneath his hands. 

"Please – you’re killing me here Gwaine, I need to -" Percival panted. Instead of complying, Gwaine abruptly stood up and undid his breeches, only stopping to yank Percival off the counter and roughly turn him around. Throwing all caution and good sense into the wind, he reached into the syrup jar and spread the gooey substance over his own leaking cock. He found Percival’s hole and jutted one finger in. 

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Only on – myself – do it already" Percival said, his voice trembling. 

Gwaine tried a second finger, and, not hearing any protests, a third. He saw Percival’s shoulders tense up beneath the thin fabric of his night shirt. 

Noticing Gwaine’s hesitation, Percival gave a frustrated sigh that was really more of a gasp and said, "I’m serious Gwaine, if you don’t—" he was cut off by Gwaine shoving into him. A yell turned into a moan, saying Gwaine’s name as he was pounded into relentlessly. Gwaine reached around Percival’s muscular frame to grasp his cock, pulling him until he finally released. Gwaine lasted two, maybe three more thrusts until he too shuddered to a still.

He and Percival stood like that for a few more seconds, afraid to disturb the peace, until Gwaine with a shaky laugh said, "Syrup, huh?"

* * *


	6. Group B (clean)

**23.**

** One For the Money, Two For the Show **

"So you know how I was explaining last week about the advances we were making with the cell-reduplication process, and how we’ve gotten them to successfully regenerate?" Arthur said while Merlin tried unsuccessfully to pull his jaw off the floor. 

"Y-you," Merlin stuttered. 

"Yeah, me. I mean, I wasn’t going to test it on anyone else." He at least had the good grace to sound a little sheepish. "Surprise," he said, and wiggled his fingers. 

"Arthur…" Merlin said weakly, "I’m not going to pretend I know anything about microbiology, but I think that’s a bit more than a successful regeneration of cells." 

"I can see why we like him, he’s quite bright isn’t he?" said Clone Arthur.  
Merlin needed to sit down for a moment. 

*

"I didn’t mean to shock you like that," said Arthur a few minutes later when Merlin had had a glass of water and a little more time to digest that fact that his boyfriend had managed to clone himself. 

"No, it was only a matter of time before your ego manifested in a physical form. I probably should have seen it coming." Arthur gave him a good nudge in the ribs and Merlin nudged back, and from there things devolved into a tickle fight rather rapidly for two grown men both with PhD’s. 

The clone in question was adjusting his lab coat the same way Arthur did when he was nervous or uncomfortable, tugging the sleeves down over his fingertips and rearranging the pens in his front pocket. When Merlin looked a little closer he noticed they hand the same laughter lines around their eyes, the same crooked tooth. It was uncanny. It begged for further investigation. 

"So wait- you guys are completely identical?" 

*

The lab coats plural were the last items in a trail of clothing that began near the workbench where Merlin had sprawled out to test for the betterment of mankind if Arthur Penn was a better kisser than his doppelganger and ended in a heap under the fume hood. 

A complete set of data was needed, of course, which meant Merlin needed Arthur on one side, teasing slick, wet kisses across the corner of Merlin’s mouth and up the crook of his jaw, alternating the barest scrape of his teeth with the stroke of his fingers up Merlin’s thigh, while Clone Arthur lay with a hand wide across Merlin’s throat and his mouth busy tracing a matching constellation of bruises. 

"Here, like this," Arthur had said, guiding clone Arthur’s hand to spread low and hot against Merlin’s stomach while he tugged Merlin’s shirt off over his head. Merlin lay dazed as two identical pairs of hands worked his body in one long, unending tease.

In no time at all he was hard and panting, spoiled for choice as to where he should place his hands now that both Arthurs had stripped to their (identical) shorts and the amount of skin on display was overwhelming. 

" _Arthur_ ," he whined, and one of them with his fingers in Merlin’s waistband said, "tell us what you want," his lips a breath from Merlin’s own. 

"Everything," Merlin groaned. "Both of you."

"Greedy,"panted Clone Arthur, "is he always this easy for you?"  
"You have no idea. Practically begging me to suck my cock. He fucking loves it." 

Arthur punctuated this with a rough palm to where Merlin was already hard and leaking. It made him cry out, his voiced echoing oddly in the empty lab. 

"I don’t suppose you have a bed here?" 

"He has a couch I can blow you on," Merlin offered helpfully, and spread his thighs a little wider. 

"Sold."

*  
The couch in Arthur’s office wasn’t comfortable per se, but what it lacked in appeal it made up for by being wide enough to fit three people and behind locked doors.

"Harder, he likes it a little rougher than that," Arthur said watching his double fuck Merlin’s mouth with a fist clenched in his hair. Merlin made a whimpering sound and felt his eyes flutter shut when Clone Arthur hit the back of his throat. He moaned in pleasure, god, he really did love this, and the vibration made Clone Arthur swear and buck his hips up again. 

"God, you’re so easy for me," Arthur said from where he was pressed all along   
Merlin’s back, "with the two of us you’re just fuckin filthy." 

The finger he’d been using to tease Merlin’s the rim of hole with pushed inside followed quickly by a second. His cry was choked off by Clone Arthur thrusting into his mouth and Merlin pushed back into it, Arthur in front, behind, inside of him, and everything was golden.

* * *

**24.**

"The crystals never lie." 

That was the first thing Morgause had taught Morgana about scrying. 

"Only the strongest and most dedicated sorceress may hope to command the crystals, and they are wayward in what they will show, and when. The visions may be misleading or confusing, and past, present, or future can be hard to tell apart. But everything you see will be the truth."

That, of course, had been a lie. 

Probably even a deliberate lie, Morgana had realized later. A lie told so that she would never doubt her sister's plans, backed up as they were by the crystals' shimmering visions. Still, it was possible that Morgause hadn't known any better. Perhaps Morgana was the only high priestess powerful enough to turn the crystals into windows to conjecture and make-believe. 

Late one evening she looked into the depths of the magnificent many-edged crystal her sister had left behind. 

"Show me the heart of Camelot!" 

The translucent stone immediately came alive for her, radiating light. A vision of crimson, ivory and gold appeared.

Morgana's eyes went wide.

The royal bedchamber was filled with the soft golden glow of many candles. The dusky-red bed-hangings had been drawn against the night. And on the sheets of the grand royal bed....

Merlin was naked, reclining against Gwen's shoulder and squeezing one of her hands. His pale splayed limbs looked agile and lithe; far from his usual gangly clumsiness. But Arthur, stretched out next to Merlin, looked exactly the way Morgana remembered him. Well-proportioned, handsome, bold and sure - the golden usurper king of Camelot. 

Morgana sneered as she took it all in: The trio's flushed skin, Gwen's dark curls trailing down to her exposed breast and across Merlin's shoulder, Arthur's strong hand wrapped around Merlin's stiff cock. 

Gwen was wriggling her toes and laughing as Merlin squeezed her hand in time with Arthur' steady pulls on his dick. Arthur was focused on the task at hand, ever the swordsman with a good grip on the handle. Merlin seemed increasingly tense, and then he arched up, lips parting to release gasps and cries that rang loudly in Morgana's ears, although the crystal vision did not carry sound.

Arthur's hand stilled. Both he and Gwen leaned in to watch Merlin's climax, the spurts of pearly seed that stained the crimson sheets and coated his taut abdomen. 

Merlin's chest had not yet stopped heaving when he opened his eyes and looked into Arthur's. Their feelings for each other were as plain to read on their faces as text in a chronicler's book would have been. 

Merlin grinned and said something, stretching his long legs. He turned to place a small tender kiss at the curve of Gwen's full breast. 

Arthur got up on his knees, displaying an eager erection. He leaned in to catch Gwen's lips with his own. Merlin remained where he was, merely looking up at his king and queen. Their kiss deepened and turned ravenous above him, and he watched them embracing. 

Merlin's fond smile was bright and completely unguarded. Morgana had never seen him looking so happy and carefree. 

The sensuality of the scene, the passion and mutual trust radiated from the crystal and stabbed at Morgana. It hurt. With a shout and a convulsive gesture of denial she broke the connection to the infuriating vision. 

Those three had light and love, shared joy and laughter. She had nothing. She had no-one, except a cruelly crippled dragon and a few frightened minions, cowering in the shadows in fear of her rage. 

She was alone.

And even she could not tell if the crystal had truly revealed the intimate secret at the core of Camelot's prosperity and happiness, or if it had shown her one of the lies she sometimes craved; deceit fit to torment her own cold heart and to bolster her hatred and resentment.

Morgana had realized her error too late. Once she'd ordered the crystal to bend a vision of reality to fit her desires, after that first time when she'd made it lie to her, there was no way to ever tell its truths from its deceptions.

Now she was permanently in the dark.

She remained on her stone throne through the night, brimming with sleepless ire, brooding in the murk of her silent hall.

* * *

**25.**

It takes Gwaine a full 4 weeks to figure it out, and by the time he does, it's too late. He's already half in love with her.

She'd (literally) stumbled into Pendragon International with a sob story and a tube of bright purple lipstick, and her hair falling in her eyes. She'd said her name was Elizabeth. Arthur had trusted her immediately, and Gwaine had--well, he'd liked her, he had, but he'd figured out that her clumsiness was an act, and then he'd liked her all the better. 

She's a con artist, and a great one, and Gwaine figures that out soon enough. He's watched her convince mail boys to do her bidding, and she can turn on the charm like it's nobody's business. But the thing is. She doesn't seem to be conning anyone at Pendragon. And well, Gwaine is a let-and-let-live sort of fellow. He got his job as Head of Security because of his shady past and all the knowledge that came with it, after all. So, she may be a con, but until she actually tries to con someone at this company, Gwaine isn't going to report her.

Besides. He spends half of the time when he's in a room with her fantasizing about going down on his knees in front of everyone and putting his head under her skirt and licking her until she screams. It’s a little distracting

*

But then a week later he's balls-deep inside her, his mouth on her collarbone, and for some stupid reason, that's when everything comes together for him. She doesn't want to steal from Arthur. She wants to steal from _Uther_ , when he shows up for the State of the Company speeches on Monday. This…does not bother Gwaine.

Actually, it makes him rather happy, seeing as there is no con-related reason at all for "Elizabeth" to be having sex with him right now. She just wants to.

"What are you grinning for?" she pants between thrusts, and throws her legs around his waist.

He doesn't want to scare her, and that's probably nothing scarier than a man twice your size whispering, "I know you're a thieving liar," while literally inside you, but here's the thing: he wants to know her. And he wants her to know that he knows.

"Tell me your name," he says.

She does tense up, mostly directly around his cock, which, _christ_. Her fingers, which had been tracing the cleft of his ass, drift down until they touch his balls. It's a warning and an insurance policy, and he appreciates her willingness to fight dirty, even as he’s rushing to say,

"No, listen, it’s all right. I know you’re after Uther. His personal accounts?" He lowers his head and ghosts a kiss across her lips. "I don't care, honestly I don't. He's a prick, and he deserves it, and that lift you made in Arthur’s office the other day was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Just...tell me your name."

She narrows her eyes at him, and they’re both still, and Gwaine starts to wonder whether he ought to roll off of her so that they can have an adult conversation, when she starts rolling her hips again. 

"Sexiest thing you ever seen?" There’s a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth, and Gwaine grins when he leans down to kiss it.

And then they’re off, again, fucking in long, athletic thrusts of their bodies, her pussy squeezing wetly around him and her fingers digging into his arse.

"Tell me your name. I want to say it when I come," he says into her ear, and she makes a sound that’s half groan, half laugh.

She traces a finger down his cleft and presses against his hole, and Gwaine stutters in his pace. "It’s Elena," she says.

"Elena," he repeats, and then sucks in a breath as she wriggles a finger in, not far but enough that Gwaine can feel it as she pulls and plays with the rim. "Oh, god."

"That’s right," she says, grinning, and Gwaine finds himself moaning _ElenaElenaElena_ into her mouth as he comes.

* * *

**26.**

Arthur's so quiet in bed. So quiet and controlled. It's not that he isn't interested or enthusiastic -- he's certainly happy enough to pull Merlin onto the bed nearly every afternoon after training, eager and half-hard by the time he gets his breeches off -- but he's just so...

_Quiet_ , Merlin thinks, rocking his hips into the cradle of Arthur's lap. They're both flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, the late afternoon sun painting gold stripes over their skin through the bed curtains. Merlin gasps when Arthur cants his hips, pressing a hand to Arthur's chest to take Arthur in deeper. He's been muttering ridiculous endearments and encouragements to Arthur, not able to stop himself, not when Arthur's so warm and close to him and not when he knows the afternoon will wane too quickly into an evening when he has to give Arthur up to the court. 

Arthur runs his hands up and down Merlin's sides, settling at his hips to hold Merlin tight and close. His jaw clenches and he gasps, the sound as tight and close as the space between them, and comes with such a look of desperate relief on his face that Merlin practically cries out for him. 

He'll find it, Merlin decides later as he dozes next to Arthur, he'll find whatever it is that'll make Arthur cry out for him. 

-

The mission proves more difficult than Merlin anticipated. 

Snitching Arthur's keys in the hopes of finding a secret stash of illicit manuscripts only results in the discovery of a random sheaf of old parchment that includes: a few letters, some early attempts at speech writing, and a few scraps of what could possibly be pornographic writing but in Latin. The only people Merlin can think to ask to translate are Gaius (no), Geoffrey (NO), and maybe Morgana (oh god no). 

Asking Arthur if he wants to try something new in bed earns him a curious nod and an expectant smile. Eventually, he has to invent some new idea on the spot and he ends up fucking Arthur over the prince's map-covered desk. 

Maps are not Arthur's kink, though he does seem to enjoy the sound of Merlin scrabbling to avoid coming all over them. Further experiments prove that he does not like being tickled (the feathers make him sneeze) or being tied up (or, disappointingly, tying Merlin up). 

In the end, Merlin wonders if being as quiet as possible in bed is Arthur's secret kink. 

\- 

Which is fine, Merlin finds himself thinking on another warm afternoon as he strokes Arthur's sweat damp chest. 

Arthur likes a lot of other things in bed -- he likes being here, in Merlin's tiny bedroom, where it's cool and quiet; he likes pressing Merlin down into the pillows, kissing him roughly and biting his way to Merlin's stomach while Merlin squirms beneath him; he likes waking Merlin up before sunrise to suck him off and leave him with a warm, sated feeling for the rest of the day; he likes the way Merlin slides his cock between his thighs, skin slick with oil, and teases him until he's shivering with want. 

Merlin gathers thought upon thought, memory upon memory, and feels his cock press hard and hot to Arthur's thigh as he does so. His fingers wander past Arthur's chest to his groin, where Merlin palms his erection. 

"You're quiet today," Arthur says, voice low and deep with desire, and he shifts beneath Merlin's touch. There's a needy little expression on his face, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips just before he gives Merlin that expectant look once more. 

"Oh," Merlin says, and then smiles. "I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how you look right now, and how you look spread out on your own bed, and how you'll always be my prince no matter what happens..." 

Arthur gasps, sudden and sharp, and his body arches towards Merlin on the narrow bed. It doesn't matter what Merlin says next, because it's all a tumble of words and sighs and laughter as Arthur comes over his hand.

* * *

**27.**

Arthur wakes to the feeling of someone laying warm and heavy on his chest. Merlin had fallen asleep, his breath puffing hot on Arthur's neck.

The skin of Merlin's back is smooth against Arthur's palms, but he doesn't open his eyes yet.

The sun would be shining on Merlin's skin, making it glow in the morning light. Arthur's fingers brush up to Merlin's neck, kneading a little before tangling in his soft hair.

Merlin makes a kittenish noise in his sleep and Arthur smiles, playing with the silky strands.

He falls back asleep.

\---

The sun shines warm and hot on the glistening waters of the beach. They're playing in the waves, naked bodies glinting in the sun, not another person to be seen.

Arthur grabs Merlin by the waist with a shout and throws him deeper into the water. Merlin comes up, sputtering and pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

He narrows his eyes at Arthur before rushing at him, hollering all the way. Arthur takes a step back just as Merlin slams into him, forcing them both down beneath the waves. 

For a moment he doesn't know which way is up, and then he crashes into the hard sandy bottom. Merlin lands on top of him, and somehow, with eyes clenched tightly shut, their lips meet.

Arthur rests his hand on Merlin's back as bitter water seeps into his mouth. He can't resist opening his eyes to the murk and stinging water, Merlin ethereal and ringed in sunlight above him.

Arthur almost forgets to come up for air.

They break the surface, gasping. Arthur's lungs burn pleasantly and he grins. Pulling Merlin in tight, he kisses him deeper, their lips slipping wetly.

Merlin presses against him, hums into his mouth, and wrenches Arthur off balance into the water again.

When Arthur comes up, he spits out water and glares.

Laughing, Merlin struggles through the waves to the shore as Arthur gives chase. 

Merlin has a headstart, and makes it out of the lake easily, before darting to the treeline and out of sight.

Disgruntled, Arthur sits in the sand. Merlin always comes back.

\---

Arthur has walked the entire length of the beach before. It's best at night when the light of the moon makes the sand a shocking white against the cold black of the water. Sometimes he passes the same rock three times before he meets his old footprints in the sand.

It's funny, he thinks. The water comes in, and goes out, but there's no tide.

It's hard to sleep when Merlin's not with him, so Arthur walks the beach instead.

\---

Merlin pounces on him in the shade of a tree, tackling him to the spongy ground.

Arthur can't help but laugh, but it's cut off as Merlin gropes at the front of his trousers. Arthur hisses, closes his eyes. Even through the fabric, Merlin's touch is always as it has been.

"Shhh," Merlin says, and Arthur pants into the air as Merlin pushes him to lay back on the ground.

He pulls Arthur's trousers off carefully, leg by leg, before laying small, dry kisses down Arthur's stomach, inching towards his cock.

Arthur whimpers and Merlin shushes him again before taking the head of Arthur's cock into his mouth. He sucks, gentle, tapping his tongue against the underside of the head as Arthur's hips twitch.

Merlin's mouth is soft and wet on him, the tiny flicks of his tongue make the knot in Arthur's stomach wind tighter and tighter.

He chokes as Merlin swallows him down, throat spasming around Arthur's cock.

Arthur reaches down to caress Merlin's ear, smoothing his thumb around the rim. He moans as Merlin swallows around him again.

Hand gentle at the back of Merlin's head, Arthur fucks up into his mouth, slipping all the way in. Merlin's eyes burn into his, the color high and bright on his cheeks. His eyes are watering and his mouth is dribbling slick saliva all over Arthur's cock.

The deep, hot suck is too much for Arthur, and he comes as he feels his cock touch the back of Merlin's throat, his eyes clenched tightly shut through his orgasm.

He loses himself, shuddering, hands weak and shaky.

Opening his eyes, he sees the sticky mess on his hands, smeared against his thighs and stomach.

Arthur's hollow laughter echoes back from the deserted trees, mocking him.

The patch of grass in front of him is empty.

* * *

**28.**

"Ah, there you are, Merlin."

Merlin spun around in his desk chair just as Arthur entered the room. He shut the door behind him, striding towards Merlin with a gleam in his eyes that made Merlin’s stomach tighten in anticipation. 

"Sir?" he said, straightening his back instinctively. 

"Do you know why I’m here, Merlin?" Arthur leaned forward and put his hands on the armrests on either side of Merlin, effectively trapping him in his chair. 

"Um. Do you mean here in a vague existential sense, or as in my personal quarters?"

Arthur looked like he was fighting back a smile. 

"The Captain has informed me that you have a certain problem paying attention during the weekly staff meetings, and requested that I discipline you appropriately. Do you have anything to say in your defense?" 

Merlin thought that he ought to stick up for himself, but his cock, which had noticed Arthur and the intoxicating proximity of him, gave him other ideas.

"No, sir," he croaked. 

"Hmm. You know, I was planning on spanking you again- a schoolboy’s punishment for a schoolboy level infraction-"

Merlin’s cock hardens as he remembers how he’d squirmed and whimpered on Arthur’s lap, his pants around his ankles, while Arthur reddened his arse with the palm of his hand until Merlin cried that he was sorry, he’d learned his lesson, he’d be a good boy from then on. Arthur had then wiped away his tears and bent him over a desk, soothing Merlin’s skin with his tongue and fucking him with it. 

"-but I’m not convinced that it’s doing you any good where your behavior is concerned. Perhaps we can try an exercise to help you develop your concentration skills instead," Arthur said, smirking slightly. 

He palmed Merlin through his pants. 

"Yeah, great plan. I agree completely. Let’s do that," Merlin replied breathlessly. 

Arthur sank to his knees. He unfastened Merlin’s pants, pulled his cock out and took the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. 

He gave head like a pro, using his mouth and hands in ways that soon turned Merlin into a moaning, shuddering mess as he tugged lightly on the ends of Arthur’s blonde hair and struggled to resist the urge to thrust. 

He was close to coming, so close to the edge, when the unthinkable happened- the bells of an incoming call rang out in the room. 

Arthur pulled off of Merlin immediately. Merlin whimpered, his body tingling with the aftereffects of his almost orgasm. 

"Answer the call," Arthur said, wiping at the spit on his chin. 

"Arthur-"

"Focus, Merlin," Arthur teased, and Merlin could’ve kicked the smug bastard. "Answer the call." 

Merlin took a deep breath and complied, though he wished he hadn’t when the Captain’s stern face popped up on the screen. Talk about a mood killer. 

"Sir!" Merlin cried, trying for casual and failing completely. 

"Mr. Emrys. Has my son been over to have a word with you yet?" 

"Um, yeah. Kind of. We’re working on it," Merlin replied. And then he yelped, because Arthur did something with his hand to Merlin’s cock that Merlin felt all the way to his toes. 

"Good. Emrys, you would do well to listen to him. You may be the best pilot out there, but don’t think for a second that I won’t fire you if these problems continue-"

Arthur enveloped Merlin in the wet heat of his mouth again, and fuck, Merlin had to end the call before he came all over him while he was on the phone with his fucking father, of all people. 

"I understand completely, sir. Thank you. Sorry, but I have to hang up now. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t terribly important. Goodbye!"

Merlin closed the screen of his monitor on the Captain’s startled face, and then Arthur stroked one hand up Merlin’s length and teased at Merlin’s entrance with another, and Merlin was coming down Arthur’s throat while Arthur swallowed him down. 

"I’m not entirely sure we’ve fixed your problem with focusing," Arthur said later, when they’d both recovered. "Would you like me to arrange more exercises?" 

Merlin agreed without hesitation.

* * *

**29.**

She was the only secret he was ever able to keep.

That was a feat of love in and of itself because Gwaine liked to brag about everything. He bragged about his luscious wavy locks of brown hair. He bragged about what he ate for breakfast. He even bragged about how hard he fell into the sidewalk that morning on his way to school. So the fact that he hadn't uttered a single word for the entire three months that he had been shagging his history professor was truly, majestically remarkable. 

But then, he had a lot of incentive.

Professor Morgana Lefay was still young - just under thirty - and still cared more about her appearance than her comfort. She showed up for class every day in oxford blouses that were always stretched tight against her skin and unbuttoned just so, revealing only the very teasing top of her cleavage, while her skirts were always at that questionable midpoint above her knees and just below her ass, so she looked proper when standing, but if she bent down enough and Gwaine tilted his head...

He honestly didn't know how he got so lucky.

He was living the best schoolboy fantasy, fucking his teacher after class every day since that first night he'd hit on her at a bar, the only problem being that _he couldn't tell anyone_. It was killing him. But every time he thought he might crack from the pressure, Morgana upped her game. She was always thinking of things for them to do. Bending her backwards over the edge of her bed and choking her until she came. Sucking his cock and not letting him come until he'd recited all the material that would be on his next exam. Spanking. Sex in a public parking garage. Sex in the car _while driving_. But she was always the one coming up with the ideas, teaching Gwaine in sex just like she taught him in school.

This time, though, it was all him.

He had her up on the edge of her office desk, her creamy white thighs clamped around his head while he fucked her with his tongue. He lapped at her soft pink folds in a lavish, slow pace that had her mewling in an agitated, yet helplessly horny, way. She would've yelled at him by this point if there weren't people walking by outside the door, a student or two possibly waiting just for her while she got fucked on the desk that they would innocently look across later. 

Gwaine smirked at the thought as he pulled away.

Morgana, who was resting back on her arms, looked down at him in dazed confusion. "Hnng? Wha – what are you – you're not done yet."

Gwaine laughed as she tried to pull him closer with her legs, but he wouldn't budge. No. He had a better plan for her. 

"Just let me get something...wait for it..." He pulled something out of a bag in his pocket.

Morgana's eyes widened. "Is that a – oh _fuck!_ "

Her curse turned into a breathy moan as Gwaine pressed a bullet vibrator against her clit, the little contraption buzzing on a low, gentle setting as he rubbed it against her. Gwaine slowly trailed the bullet lower, dipping the tip of it gently inside her before guiding it all the way in. Morgana's hips hitched up, and she moaned as Gwaine slipped his fingers in as well, pressing the vibrator right up against her pleasure point. He fucked her with it slowly and pressed a hot, open kiss on her clit.

Morgana stuttered out a whine when he pulled his fingers away, leaving the running vibrator tucked up inside her. He stood and leaned over her on the desk. Her legs automatically opened for him as he pressed forward to leave a kiss on her neck. 

"If you're a good girl," he said lowly, his voice rumbling against her chest, "then I'll let you come after class. I'll fuck you right there in the classroom."

He pressed a button on the remote in his hands, and the vibrator picked up power. Morgana's thighs clenched around his hips, and her ruby red lips smirked with mischief. 

"Yes, _sir_."

* * *

**30.**

"I can’t stay—There’s Gwen to think of and I—I _can’t_." Merlin’s long fingers tremble, curl into fists, shake at his sides. It’s as if he can’t contain himself, close to shattering apart with everything he isn’t saying. 

All Arthur can think is what now, what _more_? His closest friend revealed himself to be a sorcerer only days ago and now he’s being asked to swallow something else, to deal with some new disaster when he’s yet to figure out the first. "What’s Gwen got to do with this?" he snaps, because Merlin is a liar and everything Arthur’s been taught to despise and that’s easier, to hate him.

"Nothing," Merlin says, shakes his head. "Everything."

"If you’re not going to talk sense then—"

"I love you." Merlin lashes out with the words, making stripes in Arthur’s skin with them. His eyes flash gold and Arthur tenses, backs up a step, and the light in them dies. "I know I’m nothing. A servant. A sorcerer." Arthur’s eyes dart around at that, the casual way the word falls from Merlin’s mouth like he won’t be beheaded for it if it’s overheard. "You’re a prince," his lips tug at the edges, "even if you are a prat. I’m nothing but I still can’t stay and have you look at me like that."

He isn’t looking for a response because he’s already decided which one he’ll get. This is him lighting a powder keg and knowing he’s given himself no choice but to run, as if he’s afraid he might balk once he reaches Camelot’s gates. This is ensuring he won’t.

"Merlin." Arthur pauses. He’s losing him and he’s not even going to get to be the one to decide it. He’d thought of it, he can admit, of exiling Merlin for his betrayal. But now that he’s faced with it, he knows he could never abide it. Not when Merlin hadn’t lied to him, but _for_ him.

He’s not Gwen, soft and supportive with a snap in her wrist few knights could recreate while swordfighting and ready to stand at his side or in his stead. She’s what he wants not just for himself, but for the kingdom. Merlin’s idealistic, headstrong and has no ability to grasp the concept that the best option is sometimes not the right one.

He’s not a smart match and while Arthur cares for him, it isn’t love. Which means he can’t say the only thing he’ll want to hear.

"I’ll take the night," Merlin says resolutely. His hands are still balled together into fists but they’re no longer shaking, "to collect my things, to say goodbye to Gaius and then I’ll go."

Arthur dips his chin, can’t bring himself to say, ‘Don’t,’ and doesn’t think Merlin would listen even if he could. His eyes are rimmed red and wet and the castle stone is uneven and blurred and Merlin takes a step away and Arthur swallows everything that makes him who he is and lies. "I love you, too."

Merlin stutters to a stop, expression _opening_ and bright like Arthur never thought he would see on him again and he laughs – warm and new.

It makes Arthur’s insides shrivel.

*

Merlin comes to his chambers, still drunk on his happiness, and Arthur cups his sharp jaw and pulls him in for a soft kiss, a keening kiss, something that Merlin whines into. He teases him apart, sheds Merlin’s clothing while Merlin pants helplessly into his mouth, skin warm and lips pliant and stumbling.

He strokes Merlin’s cock through his breeches, all light touches, more promise than fulfillment. He takes Merlin into his mouth, long fingers curling into his hair rather than into fists. His father is always telling him that it’s a king’s job to make sacrifices.

He won’t get far without Merlin. He looks up into the heart-shaped face, the dropped lashes, as he wrings waves of pleasure out of Merlin and this feels like his greatest sacrifice. Perhaps it always will be. His future with Gwen for his present with Merlin.

After, Merlin flings an arm over his damp chest, wriggles against his side to get comfortable and breathes the words, those damning words again.

Arthur will learn to say it like he means it. He’s not like Merlin that way, not too noble to do what’s best for Camelot even if it isn’t what’s right. He says it back and it comes out smoother, less edges, less cuts. "I love you, Merlin."

* * *

**31.**

 _The worst thing about it was, part of him had liked it._

He’d been sent to the castle when he was six, and his parents had been so pleased that he had been chosen to be fostered there. They were minor nobility, and not wealthy, and his father told him that the family’s chances for advancement rested on his shoulders. 

So he had kissed his mother and sisters goodbye, and started his new life as a part of Uther’s household. 

He was a page, and one of his duties was to be in Uther’s rooms in the evening in case the king needed to send a message. He tried to stay awake, but he was training hard, as well as spending a couple of hours a day with Geoffrey on lessons, and he was exhausted. 

And he was only a little boy, after all. 

The first time it happened, he had fallen asleep on a rug by the fire. When he woke up, Uther was standing over him, naked and erect. 

He’d never seen an erection before, and it looked huge, especially compared to his own penis. He blinked up at the king, not sure what was going on. 

"Go back to sleep," the king said. 

In the morning Leon thought perhaps he had dreamed it. It seemed like such an odd thing for Uther to do. That was the start. 

Uther would stroke his hair sometimes, and say, "Such beautiful golden curls," and the boy would puff up with pride. He would be able to do his family some good if the king liked him. 

One night he fell asleep again, and when he woke he was in bed with Uther, still clothed. Uther was naked. 

Once that began to seem normal, Uther would sometimes tangle one hand in Leon’s curls, murmuring, "So soft, such a good boy," while his other hand rapidly worked under the covers. 

The older man never physically hurt him. Eventually, he would wrap his fist around Leon’s prick and bring him off, or sometimes he would have Leon turn over onto his stomach and after a few minutes the boy would feel sticky heat on his bare buttocks. 

But there was never any penetration. Uther said he was too young. 

Uther said a lot of things. He said that their nights were private, and that it was a special secret between the two of them. 

He said that bad boys who talked out of turn got sent home in disgrace, and that their families shared in the disgrace. 

So it went on until Leon was thirteen and hit an awkward phase, with big feet and gangly limbs and a spotty face. Uther sent him to sleep in the knight’s quarters with the other squires, and took another pretty little boy to his bed. 

Eventually Leon realized that what had happened was wrong, even though it had made him feel so good, so special. 

He kept his head down and made himself into an excellent soldier, becoming leader of Camelot’s knights and indispensable to the king. 

When he was given charge of the pages waiting to become squires, he had sat across the table from Uther at council and announced that for the children’s health and morale, they would all sleep together in one room, instead of all over the castle as had been the previous practice. An older married couple would make sure they were all in bed and accounted for by the first evening bell, and would sleep by the door to ensure that no one came or left. 

He had looked Uther straight in the eye when he said it, and Uther had not overruled him. 

Now Leon was biding his time until Arthur became king. Arthur was a far better man than his father, and Leon looked forward to serving under a fair and idealistic king. 

In the meantime, if he was ever alone with Uther in a situation where the king’s death could be blamed on bandits or enemy soldiers, he would kill him. 

He suspected that Uther knew that, and that was one reason he so rarely left the keep. 

There might be others who were looking for vengeance for the same reason as Leon. Leon still felt some shame and guilt over what had happened, but his adult self knew that it wasn’t his fault, that Uther had abused his position and destroyed a boy’s innocence. 

Still… 

The worst thing about it was, part of him had liked it. 

* * *

**32.**

Merlin’s not supposed to be at the farm. He can’t help himself, sometimes: the woods are his home, but you can only eat rabbit and fish so many hundred times before getting tired of them. The farmer’s wife makes pork that’s ‘– so delicious, best I’ve eaten in ages, thank you!’ He smiles. (He doesn’t say: the woods get so awfully lonely.)

*

Sweat glistens on the skin of the three slaves working the fields. Merlin might be staring a bit, mostly at the one whose hair reflects the sun in colours of straw – a warm, soft bed of straw. He seems too handsome to be a field slave, but scars crisscross over his back like arrows pointing down, down, down, as if to remind him of his place. 

*

Arthur’s eyes are blue like morning glories; Merlin finds out when Arthur traps him against the barn wall. 

‘Take me with you,’ he says, brusque. Arthur smells of sweat and flowers, like he was just rolling around in them. He’s very warm. He presses against Merlin, and says, ‘I can be very good to you,’ before clumsily mouthing a kiss into Merlin’s throat.

Nobody’s ever touched Merlin like that. He shakes, a little.

* 

He’s not supposed to do ostentatious magic, but he harvests all the fields in exchange for Arthur, anyway.

*

He lets Arthur lead the way; Merlin doesn’t care. Neither does Arthur, when Merlin tries to show him a small waterfall, or how to prepare the food. 

He doesn’t touch Merlin.

‘ _Stop that._ … Uh, it’s fine as it is. Master,’ is what he says when Merlin tries to soften the ground for him at night, and oh. He’s afraid of magic, like people were before – before Morgana overthrew Uther. Before Merlin knew things could get worse. 

Then he remembers the everlasting spell buried under Arthur’s skin that will either tether him to a master or kill him, and goes to sleep on the other side of the fire. 

*

(All Merlin knows is that one day Morgana’s army marched into Ealdor in search of Emrys from some prophecy, and almost burned it to the ground. He should not have taken Arthur. It’s safer for everyone if he’s alone.) 

*

Arthur insists on catching a fish himself. 

‘… Have you fished before? I mean, ever?’ Merlin says five hours later. 

Arthur gnashes his teeth. ‘What idiot lives in the woods and doesn’t have a crossbow?’

‘ _Hey_. A magical idiot, obviously.’

Two fish jump out of the river neatly into Arthur’s hands. He throws them back. Merlin sighs.

*

They walk, further and further.

*

Before Merlin has a chance to blink, Arthur has swung his fist into a bandit’s face, stolen his sword, and struck down another. 

After, Merlin puts his hand over the woman’s stab wound and whispers a spell. 

She lives.

That night, Arthur stares at him over the fire, considering, while he holds the stolen sword close as though it were made of gold. 

*

‘Well?’ Arthur looks at the river. ‘I’m hungry, and I’ve been walking all day.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll make sure not to follow you next time, then, _your highness_ ,’ Merlin says, but on the inside, he’s grinning. 

*

‘We have to turn back. We’re getting too close to Camelot.’

Arthur stills, the sword glinting by his side. ‘What’s wrong with Camelot?’

‘Can’t go there,’ Merlin says, and turns around; doesn’t think of all the people he will never meet.

*

He wakes up when Arthur kisses his shoulder. Arthur’s hair is wet; he smells like the river and grass, and all it takes is for him to mouth at a nipple through Merlin’s shirt, and Merlin’s hard. 

He doesn’t know how to kiss, but Arthur clearly does. 

‘Take me to Camelot,’ Arthur says, and tugs at his lip. His hands are warm and gentle on Merlin’s back; Merlin’s no fool, but for once, there is no echoing emptiness inside his chest; for once, he feels alive, and maybe, maybe this is worth dying for. 

He licks every one of Arthur’s scars, his lips sore from kissing, before rutting into him, like Merlin’s seen animals do; lets himself think _mine_ while mouthing at the back of his neck, gently. Arthur moans like he hasn’t known pleasure in a long time. 

After, Arthur says, ‘Shut up, you weren’t that good,’ but he’s flushed and dazed and lets Merlin curl around him.

*

‘Just visiting some relatives,’ Arthur says, staring at the castle towers. ‘Tell me, would you say you’re a fairly powerful sorcerer?’

(Unbeknownst to them, the prophecy unfolds. )

* * *

**33.**

It’s easier than Mithian expects to say, "Nemeth" with no tremor or remorse. She puts her sword down on the table with enough force to command their attention and draws up to her full height, knowing the helmet hides her face and the chainmail covers her petite frame well enough. 

"I thought King Rodor had a daughter," Sir Leon says, his keen eyes moving along her frame. The squire with quill to parchment looks up as well, but his air is one of complete disinterest. 

"He does," she says, forcing her voice lower. "My sister."

The chainmail clings to her shoulders and she shifts the shield in her hand a little as they both study her. She’d taken it from the armoury, the crest of the Nemeth royal court emblazoned on the front, making it heavy and significant.

Sir Leon’s eyes are still on her when the squire nods, waving her off in the direction of the arena. It’s not her first tournament, but none of the ones she's fought in has been at a royal court. In the villages, it’s much easier to hide behind her secret identity. 

The crowd slowly comes to life outside the tents and she sits in silence, fiddling with the ribbon she’s cut from her dress. The battles outside are familiar; the clangs of metal and the answering rise of the crowd, living and breathing with the fight. 

Mithian has always played the part of the perfect Princess, but her father’s knights have always said she has the fight in her. It blooms in her heart, strong and intoxicating. 

When she enters the arena for the first fight, her heart pumps hard in her chest and her lips spread into a grin that nearly hurts. When she’s announced, she hears the mutters. She knows that there are people in Camelot who will question the information that King Rodor has a son. 

She’s playing a dangerous game. 

But it doesn’t matter. Not when she unties the ribbon from her arm and presents it to the visiting Princess Elena whose blinding smile had graced them in Nemeth some seasons ago. Not when she wins fight after fight, moving light on her feet with the familiar weight of a sword pressed into her palm. 

The sun is almost setting in Camelot when she faces Sir Percival in the final game of the tournament, her calloused hands sore. Sir Percival is a mountain of a man, his build intimidating to every opponent he faces, but she knows the gentleness in his smile and the careful touch of his hands. 

Mithian avoids the first swing of his sword by a hair, her footing unsteady until she catches herself, grounding herself to the earth. Her sword strikes at Sir Percival’s weakest side, catching him slightly off guard. The surprise doesn’t show on his face. He’s too well-trained for that. 

She smiles to herself in the privacy of her helmet, dancing from foot to foot in a series of quick shuffles that makes the crowd gasp. 

The last time she visited Camelot, she’d been a princess, and Sir Percival had only battled his hesitations for a long evening before he welcomed her kisses readily, his big hands splayed over her thighs. 

She remembers the steady glide of him inside her, hot and thick, and the warm slickness of his tongue on her neck. She remembers taking him into her bed and straddling him like a horse, riding him with her hair spilling down her back as his hands brushed along her ribs. 

She knows those hands gripping the blade. She’s had them buried in her hair, skimming over her stomach, cupping her neck. His lips purse as he swings the sword in her direction and she jumps back, feeling the phantom press of his lips at her collarbone.

And so, beating him in battle is nothing. She knows Sir Percival. She knows his gasps and the blush on his wide chest. She’s watched him move enough to know where to strike. 

The feeling of watching him fall on his back, her sword hovering above his chest, is unnervingly close to the feeling of shaking apart on his cock. 

She looks up at the cheering crowd, grins and pulls off her helmet, her hair falling down the length of her back. She holds her sword high, meeting her uncertain future with her head turned to the sky.

* * *

**34.**

It started with porn, as these things often do.

Honestly, it was something Merlin had never really considered until he stumbled across it and found himself staring at the woman on her knees, head bowed in submission. At first glance there was nothing that different about the woman: she looked similar to other women that started in the sort of artsy porn that Merlin tended to favor.

Merlin watched as she kept her head down, crawling forward in the frame, and rubbing her face against a pair of jean-clad legs. And when she shifted, that’s when Merlin saw it clearly: she was wearing a plug. But not just any plug. Hanging down between her legs, and swishing with the movement of her hips, was a full and fluffy fox tail.

Merlin felt the blood rush unexpectedly to his cock, which was still trapped in his jeans. He was surprised by his sudden arousal, but damn was he aroused.

He watched, fascinated, as the man stepped out of his jeans and slid to the floor, his back against the side of the bed. He beckoned her forward and rubbed his hand through her long black hair as she leaned into the touch. She then dipped forward and swallowed his cock, her ass raised in the air, tail hanging down between her spread knees.

Merlin made quick work on his jeans, freeing his own erecting and surprising himself with how turned on he was. Merlin watched all kinds of porn, and sure some couples or actors turned him on more than others, but it was usually due to their looks. No one had hit him the way this woman had.

As they changed positions on screen, the man bending the woman over the bed and flipping the tail up so that it lay don her spine as he fucked her, it occurred to Merlin that he wasn’t really attracted to the woman – he wanted to be in the woman’s position.

He could picture Arthur getting him ready, licking his hole until he was wet enough to slide a single finger inside. Once Merlin loosened a little, Arthur would slide two slick fingers in, stretching him and preparing him for the plug. He could imagine the coolness of the glass pressing against him. He could imagine how Arthur would kiss between his shoulder blades as he slide the plug in further, as he stretched around the widest part before it slid into place. He could feel the softness of the fur rub against the back of his balls, against the back of his legs.

He would nuzzle against Arthur’s lap and gaze up at him with sad-puppy eyes, trying to convey without words how much he wants Arthur’s cock in his mouth. And when he wraps his lips around Arthur, he would raise his ass into the air and sway his hips so show how happy he is.

And he could picture Arthur sucking his cock, and seeing both Arthur and the tail between his legs. He could imagine Arthur rubbing his cheeks against the tail, which in turn would run against his legs and…

With a shout Merlin came across his hands and stomach. On screen the man had pulled out, and the woman was repositioning herself so that she could curl up in his lap. Merlin felt his heart clench in his chest as he watched the man run his hands through her hair in long strokes, and how she closed her eyes and relaxed into his hold.

Merlin spent a moment catching his breath before he cleaned himself up. He had some research to do.

…

Merlin stared at the silk bag in his lap, his face already flushing with future embracement and unable to look Arthur in the eye. He had spent months working himself up to this, browsing different websites, and looking for the perfect one, eventually settling on a wolf tail to match his own darker hair.

He didn’t look up as he explained what he wanted to Arthur, told him about his fantasies, and how it turned him on to picture himself as Arthur’s pet. When he finally did look up, he caught the heated look in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur leaned forward and kissed Merlin, long and hard. When they finally broke apart he whispered, "show me," and Merlin took a deep breath and revealed his tail.

* * *

**35.**

They make you speak to therapists. You ignore the first two; they call you Javier. Third is Gaius. You correct him when he says, "Javier."

"Merlin," you say. "My name."

There’s silence. At length, Gaius nods. "Okay, Merlin. Two weeks ago, you tried to kill yourself..."

*

Gaius keeps calling you Merlin. He treats you like you’re normal, lets you keep pretending.

So you tell him: of growing up being _wrong_ , cutting your skin to see if another person lived inside. Of dreaming, each night, of forever ago: a dying man telling you to hold him. Of wet cheeks in the mornings, your hollow chest. Of trying to find him and never finding him. Of feeling crazy, alone.

After a long silence, Gaius says, gentle, "He doesn’t exist, Merlin." 

You say, "Then I don’t exist either."

A secret you never told anyone: you _know_.

You know Arthur doesn’t exist.

*

Arthur doesn’t exist. Liam does.

You don’t know what it means (yet), but four weeks later, there’s Liam, the new boy. Seventeen, brown-skinned, dark-eyed. Likes to play footie. 

Another suicidal one.

At night, Liam wakes the entire ward screaming, crying. Days go by (a week, two), and he doesn’t speak, keeps to himself.

Sometimes, when you watch TV, stare out of the window, you look up, find him watching you.

*

One day, you ask about Liam. 

"That new guy," you say. "What’s up with him?"

"Liam? Insists he’s white. Says he’s blond, blue-eyed. Like some fuckin’ Aryan." The kid shrugs. "Guess some racist bastard fucked him up."

You watch Liam back, then. When your heart beats now, you’re oddly aware of it.

*

After, you feel your heart pulse constantly. In anxiety, joy, boredom. The first time talking to Liam, it’s all at once.

"Hello," you say. "You’re new."

Liam shrugs.

"I’m... I’m Merlin. What’s--your name?"

Liam looks up, with eyes that are not blue. They’re familiar in their unfamiliarity, making your heart stutter. "I think," he says, "you know my name."

*

When Liam wakes screaming next, you wake with him, panicked. You’re at his bedside in a second.

Liam’s holding his side like he’s hurt. The scene is so familiar you can’t breathe. You’re suddenly terrified you’ll lose him again, but--it can’t be. How can you lose something again you’ve never had?

"Merlin. _Merlin_ —"

"I’m here," you whisper, unable to do anything but crouching, touching your forehead to his. When Liam breathes, broken, "Just—just hold me," you do. 

You hold him, at last.

The peace you feel is beyond anything.

*

The next day, you slip Liam a letter.

"If you understand," you murmur, "come to me."

*

Liam does, quiet like the night. He wraps himself around you like he never did anything else. "Can I," he says, hoarse, into your ear. "Merlin, can I—"

Not knowing what he’s asking for, you say, "Yes"; the scent under his arm isn’t a phantom’s but alive, sweaty, musky on your tongue as you lick that secret place—is _his_ , even if you don’t know what that means.

His fingers in you stir a firequake, a bright burn making all the deep places inside you shudder apart. His eyes are blue in the moonlight, his skin an enticing umber.

When he pushes—pushes— _pushes_ inside, your back arches, your neck gives away. His wounded noises against your throat are skilled musician’s fingers plucking at your heart strings. You make a sound too, long, low, shattered.

"L-Liam. _Liam_ —"

"Say my name," he hisses, desperate.

"I—"

" _Say it_."

He’s heavy above you. Burning, big, inside. You’re _full_ with him—

His hips circle, shove. Him in you is this: Plato’s ruptured figures realigning smoothly in other places. His teeth, your neck; your hand, his waist—

You don’t say his name.

After, you’re pressed close together. His hand, large on your hip, is proprietary. You don’t need to say, _stay with me_ , any longer.

The blindness is gone. You see now: his skin, dark and light. Eyes, brown and blue. He is Liam and Arthur, and neither. Like you.

"You are like nobody, since I love you,"* you recite the words of your letter, quietly. 

He buries his face in your neck, hiding. A while later, he mutters, "I know."

Your fingers stroke his trembling back. Dust dances like stars in the moonlight cutting through the shutters. You kiss his hair. His tremble dissipates.

Maybe you’re not Merlin, maybe he’s not Arthur. Maybe you don’t exist.

It’s okay. 

You can just not exist together, now.

* * *

**36.**

Guinevere was well loved and respected and rarely received any grievances at Mesin, the weekly gathering of citizens of Iltadox for grievance airing, forgiveness touch circles, and isolated meditation. Once or twice she’d been chastised for ignoring the plight of Entruchs (those from high jinar found to be Abnormal and reassigned to the lower jinar), but more often than not, she instead found excuses to air her own grievances—to Arthur, the stunning blond reporter, for his insensitivity towards lower jinar children; to Morgana, the buxom Edinball player, for brushing past Guinevere on Jin Street without saying hello; to Merlin and Leon and Elena and Morgause, for any reason she could think of.

Guinevere was taught in parliament preparatory school that the first few generations after the Great Purge had nearly seen their carefully structured society obliterated. In Iltadox, only the lower jinar reproduced. The high jinar, the working class who kept the atmosphere safe, the water drinkable, and the hydroponic farms productive, had no need for sex, but their lingering craving for it was nearly Iltadox’s undoing. Soon after the Great Water Shortage, however, there was a renewed adherence to the system, and by now, sexual arousal was something taught to initiates of the lower jinar, having been washed from the status quo of the species.

Upon being inspected at birth and deemed of high aptitude, a glance at the household requests saw Guinevere assigned to the highest jinar, which was populated by physicians, government officials, and the media. Her Mutox was Head Inspector of Infirmaries, and after her primary education, Guinevere was enrolled in the accelerated program at parliament school, which saw her as Junior Administrator of Civil Welfare within two years.

Guinevere’s life was wonderful by all conventional measures. But there was something deeply unconventional about her, something that would strip her of her title, of her life purpose, if anyone ever learned of it—something Abnormal.

 

There was little use for privacy amongst the high jinar. Without sexual attraction, bodies were just tools. People wore clothing or didn’t, depending on the activity of the moment or their personal inclinations for or against fashion. This made things very difficult for Guinevere, who found bodies of all kinds incredibly exciting. She feigned fashionista so as not to draw undue attention to the fact that she _always_ wore clothing. She went to work in clothes. She exercised in them, went to the spa in them, slept in them. She invested hundreds of hours (and thousands of cost units) in her supposed hobby to hide the fact that if she weren’t wearing panties, she’d constantly be walking with trails of slick down her thighs.

Mesin was the only place Guinevere was guaranteed privacy, the only time she could indulge in touch, could place her hands on others’ bodies, wherever she chose, under the guise of forgiveness. Each week, she’d air a feigned grievance in order to get some gorgeous person’s hands on her tits, her arse, sliding up between her legs. She’d bury her face in someone’s hair, their neck, breathing them in, sometimes tasting. Morgana’s beautiful tits, Arthur’s generous arse, Merlin’s perfect lips. She would touch and be touched until they agreed that all grudges had been lifted, that they’d found oneness again, and then she would retreat to one of the austere meditation rooms and lock the door behind her.

Sometimes she didn’t even bother slipping off her panties, just jammed both hands down the front of her skirt and slid four fingers into her cunt, humping hard against her hands for the twenty, thirty seconds it took to come. Sometimes she got completely naked and built it up for ages, squeezing her nipples, running just the tip of one finger up and down the length of her slit before slowly teasing inside, thumb occasionally brushing over her clit. Sometimes she took the mirror out of her satchel and watched her fingers disappearing into her body, hot and secret and forbidden and so good she had to bite down on the ornate leather collar of her jacket to keep from crying out.

Sometimes, in her most guarded fantasies, Guinevere imagined being reassigned to the lower jinar, fucking and being fucked as much, as long, as hard as she could take it. But after she came and cleaned herself up, she put that thought away. Parliament was her calling. And she couldn’t possibly be the only Entruch in the highest jinar.

* * *

**37.**

Arthur's heart pounds until he trembles with it as he watches Morgana display her newest intention. The dark polished wood gleams in the light from the fireplace and Morgana's eyes flicker, more unreadable and unfathomable than they've ever been before.

There's been a harsh brittleness to her ever since they'd brought her back to Camelot, a sharp, almost cruel, edge that cuts against him every time they touch like this.

"Yes," he whispers brokenly and drops his head between his arms where he is spread on all fours across the bed.

It's profane, the inexorable push of it as she falls to her knees behind him, the huge phallus secured to a makeshift harness around her soft, lithe body.

His vision blurs as she begins the full force of her thrusts, the firm swell of her breasts and tight, pebbled nipples stroking along his back and making him shiver uncontrollably as she leans over him.

He's alight and wants to _scream_ with it, with this burning that will sear him and rip him in two if he doesn't let it out. But her hand is there like a vise, squeezing his jaw shut.

"Shhhh, it's our little secret remember." She laughs in his ear, snapping her hips forward until he keens under her.

He does remember. He'll always remember. In so many ways she's all he's ever known. (And in his darkest moments, watching Merlin laugh along with _his_ knights and touch their shoulders or the spoilt, disinterested princesses that Uther deigns to grace his presence with, he shudders with the thought that she's all he ever _will_ know, at least like this.)

He remembers the thin skin of her thighs and the scent of her sex as he carefully explored all the ways to make her gasp and moan that first time. He'd never been that interested in women -- still isn't truly -- but she was someone he could please and the way she'd smiled at him after...

He still goes to great lengths to protect that, their secret, little game.

As she rakes her nails down his back he is dizzy with how that game has changed.

"You wish Merlin were here now, don't you, Arthur? I see the way you look at him; you'd give anything to suck his cock while I fuck you."

Arthur closes his eyes and whines into the mattress. _Oh fuck, oh fuck._

" _Wouldn't you_ , Arthur? You didn't answer my question," she growls and smacks his thigh.

"Yes, yes, _god_ ," he groans, the words ripped from inside his chest and punching out all the air in his lungs.

Fuck, it's all he thinks about some days, the want driving him until he snaps at Merlin mercilessly, if only to stop himself from pushing Merlin onto his bed and losing himself completely in that long, lean body and bright smile.

Her hand fists in his hair and _yanks_ until his cock twitches and he looks ahead. "Well, you heard your master, Merlin. Come here."

Arthur panics at the sight of Merlin stumbling forward, flushed and frowning -- _Oh god, what if he never wants to come near me again?_ \-- but then he sees the prominent bulge and scrambles manically with one hand for the laces of Merlin's trousers, anything to cut off Merlin's "Morgana, what are you--"

He'll be ashamed later, but he's flying off the edges of the world, a pulsing throb of _want_ that must have _now_.

And Merlin's just as long and perfect, the heady scent of him just as overwhelming as he'd always fantasised. He's never wanted anything more, to be so completely surrounded by the two he loves and trusts more than anyone.

"Don't you worry about me," Morgana says, scratching a nail down Merlin's cheek and across his lips. "I know just how to use that pretty mouth of yours once we're done with him. You can show me what a good _servant_ you are. And maybe, if you can get it up again, I'll let you fuck me and then Arthur can lick me clean until the whole mess is gone. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Arthur? You could spend hours down there, worshipping me, and just think of how swollen and dripping with us both it will be once I've let Merlin satisfy me. You'd _love_ it."

Arthur makes a pained, wounded sound and buries his head as far on Merlin's cock as he can, until he chokes for want of air. _He would, he would, he would._

* * *

**38.**

As Merlin grunted and sweat poured from his brow, Arthur was embarrassed by how turned on he was getting. There was just something about how into this Merlin got that turned him on fiercely. He loved watching Merlin be so commanding and forceful.

Merlin looked into his eyes and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his wrist. He bit his lip and gave Arthur a crooked grin. "What are you smiling about?"

Arthur was sure his cheeks were turning red and turned away from Merlin’s gaze. "Nothing."

But Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t falling for that. His expression said it all. Normally, Arthur loved that Merlin could read him like no one else could, but not right now.

Merlin paused. "Is this turning you on?"

Arthur didn’t say anything but looked down at the meat in front of him sheepishly. 

Merlin laughed and looked at the kitchen counter and the dough he was just kneading and the mess surrounding it - scattered flecks of flour, tomato sauce, sausages, and pepperoni. 

Arthur wasn’t sure when it had started, but he had noticed recently that he got hopelessly horny whenever Merlin cooked. It had always amused him how the usually laid back and quiet Merlin got so vocal and intense whenever he cooked.

He would sweat and curse and be laser focused on the task at hand. The first time Merlin had attempted to make homemade pizza, Arthur noticed that he was getting hard watching Merlin knead the dough mercilessly. 

Arthur started to imagine Merlin manhandling him that way. He imagined Merlin kneading the pale, firm flesh of his ass and nestling his face in between his cheeks and making a meal out of him. Arthur had left an oblivious Merlin behind and wanked off in the bathroom.

No matter what Merlin cooked now, he had the same reaction. He usually made himself scarce when Merlin cooked lately, but Merlin had requested his help tonight. It wasn’t the weirdest kink in the world, but Arthur found it a little embarrassing. 

"I know, I know it’s odd," Arthur mumbled. He started to walk away, but Merlin grabbed his wrist. 

"It really is getting you hot!" Merlin said in surprise. 

When Arthur nodded quickly, Merlin grinned slyly. He cornered Arthur and backed him up against the counter. His crotch grazed against Arthur’s and he raised his eyebrow at the tell-tale bulge in Arthur’s pants. He leaned back and wrinkled his nose. "It’s not the dough, is it?"

Arthur pushed at Merlin’s shoulders in a huff. "No, of course not." Arthur looked down, but Merlin gently tipped his chin up to look back at him. Merlin had a sweet, but teasing smile on his face. "It’s just you get so intense and...rough. I like it."

"You like it rough." Merlin whispered.

"Yeah." The way Merlin was eyeing him was doing nothing to calm down his raging hard on.

Suddenly, Arthur found himself hoisted onto the hard, cold countertop as Merlin tossed aside the dough.

Arthur decided to put aside his annoyance that Merlin had gotten flour all over his black dress pants. 

Merlin’s fingers flew as he quickly whipped off Arthur’s belt and pulled down his pants.

"What are you doing?"

Merlin took off Arthur’s boxers. "I thought I’d have a little pre-dinner snack."

Arthur almost laughed at the cheesy line, but any response was cut off by the loud moan wrung out of him as Merlin licked a long, hot strip against his hole.

Arthur was reduced to an incoherent mess in no time at all. He licked around the edge of Arthur’s hole over and over again. As Arthur lost all control of the muscles in his body holding him up, he was on the verge of begging Merlin to put his tongue inside of him when Merlin read his mind and did just that.

Arthur could feel Merlin smile against his bottom as Merlin jabbed his tongue in and out twice and Arthur found himself coming without ever getting close to even touching his cock.

Merlin stood up and Arthur lifted his head in time to see Merlin furiously stroke his own leaking member three times, before he came all over the kitchen floor.

Bending over a still delirious Arthur, Merlin laid his head against Arthur’s chest. After a second, Merlin placed a gentle kiss on Arthur’s lips. Arthur tasted himself against Merlin’s wet mouth and deepened the kiss.

When Merlin pulled back breathlessly, Arthur chuckled. "The next time we do this, maybe we should clean up a little first. I have dough in some very uncomfortable places."

* * *

**39.**

Arthur seethed as he and his knights bore Merlin to the Isle of the Blessed. Years of restraint would be unraveled in mere hours. Damn Merlin and his insistence on drinking poison and revealing Arthur’s heart in the process. 

They reached the misty Isle at dawn, Percival carrying a bound and whimpering Merlin to the stone table that stood at its center. Leon, Lancelot, Elyan, and Gwaine followed wordlessly.

Arthur recalled Gaius’ instructions – _hemp rope at four corners_ \-- and nodded to Percival. Together, they stripped Merlin of his garments and rebound his struggling form. 

"Right," Arthur said, his voice shaking. It had to be done.

***

It had all started in the tavern, Gwaine explained to Gaius as he and Arthur burst through the door, dragging a flushed and convulsing Merlin between them. As Arthur deposited Merlin onto Gaius’ cot, Merlin grabbed at whatever he could reach, which included several leeches, a rabbit mask, Gaius’ hair, and Arthur’s inner thigh. Arthur stilled Merlin’s hands as best he could and held his breath while Gaius completed his examination. 

"I fear Merlin has fallen prey to the _Sceafta Monegum_ , Sire," Gaius said, looking grave. "An ancient elixir, created by the High Priestesses to humiliate men they felt had wronged them."

Gwaine frowned and asked, "So why Merlin? Who seeks revenge on him?"

Gaius hesitated. "I couldn't say. Nevertheless, we must remedy the effects, and soon, before Merlin is driven mad."

"Before?" Arthur joked. Gaius did not smile back. "Very well, what must be done? Another flower?" 

Not another flower.

***

"Right,"Gwaine said, finally. He walked over to Merlin and unlaced his breeches. "He just needs a few of his best mates to come all over him and Arthur to fuck him with a deadly object? Just your average night at the tavern then." 

"You go to some fucked up taverns," Elyan retorted. 

Arthur ignored the banter and watched, his gut churning, as Gwaine bent down to whisper in Merlin’s ear. Had they done this before? Merlin seemed to nod occasionally, as if Gwaine’s voice could calm him, and that hurt even more than watching Gwaine's grin as he came all over Merlin's face, so globs of it slid down to Merlin's ears and over his puffy, bitten lips.

Yet Arthur couldn't look away while the others took their turns. Leon determined, Percival shy, Elyan restrained, and Lancelot worshipful as they each painted Merlin’s skin with come, causing Merlin to gurgle in delight with each pulse and pull at his bonds until the rope left angry welts in his skin. They all obeyed Arthur’s reminder that they couldn't touch Merlin-- _Gaius said not to, only me, part of the spell_ \-- though in truth, Gaius had said no such thing. 

By Arthur’s turn, Merlin was writhing and mindless, nonsense spilling from his mouth as the spell worked through him. Arthur wished he could have found this more difficult, out of respect for his friend, but it was easy, so easy, to bring himself off to the tune of Merlin’s half-formed pleas. He'd never been harder in his life; it took scant few strokes to set Arthur off. His release had barely ebbed when Arthur worked two fingers into Merlin, adding spit to the come he collected on his fingers in the hope Merlin might get a little pleasure from what came next. He braced his other hand on Merlin’s belly and slowly slid the hilt of his sheathed dagger into him, impaling him with the cold steel required by the spell.

Merlin babbled softly while Arthur worked the dagger. Was he in pain? Arthur could change that. It was as if he were the one under the spell as he bent to slide Merlin’s leaking cockhead between his lips. He knew the knights watched, so he angled the hilt into Merlin harder _one, two, three_ and Merlin arched into Arthur’s mouth, screaming.

Finally, Merlin settled down. His expression of bliss didn't fade as Arthur unbound him, made him drink some water, and carefully wrapped him up in his red cloak. 

***

"Sire," Sir Leon said as they met in the council chambers two days later. "I believe we have identified the culprit in the…attack…against Merlin. The barmaid claims she saw Dragoon—the old sorcerer—in her pantry less than a half hour before."

"But why would the old sorcerer want to humiliate my _manservant_?" Arthur asked.

Gaius raised his eyebrow in alarm at Merlin, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

**40.**

It began as an innocent endeavor.

Merlin had found the spell in his book early on in his studies and had always wondered what the transformation would feel like and if he had the control to maintain it.

He knew Gaius would disbelieve any excuse he’d make about pure curiosity, one impeccable eyebrow raised towards the heavens; so he never bothered to seek out his counsel.

Instead he let the thought sit in his mind until it began to grow and fester.

He pondered it in his spare time, plagued by the phantom feeling of long black tresses caressing his shoulders and the pale silky smoothness of skin he was never born to have.

At night, alone in his bed and plagued with his thoughts, he would trace the hard bones in his face and try to envision how it would morph into something more delicate and refined, how he could endure a metamorphosis into something so much more beautiful than himself if only he tried.

***

His opportunity finally came well into his second year at Camelot with a large delegation of nobles arriving from Mercia. 

Amongst the chaos of the visiting elite Merlin slips away to the safety of his own rooms the spell out of his lips before the door is even completely shut in his haste.

The differences are startling, not because of what has changed but in what remains the same. His cheekbones are still sharp but his features are softer as if he were meant to be born like this. His eyes are still blue but his eyelashes are thicker whilst his eyebrows frame a beautiful heart shaped face.

Merlin’s long pale form is accentuated with small breasts, perfectly formed to his figure, whilst straight long black hair falls down bellow his shoulders.

He finally feels comfortable in himself for the first time in forever.

***

To everyone else Merlin is busy tending to the Mercian delegation, so busy in fact that a new maid accepts many of his duties. Emrys they call her.

Hair darker than midnight and a face that could make her kin to Morgana.

And yet when Arthur sees her he stares as if she were a puzzle or a mystery whilst pursuing her figure with an implied invitation that she dare not accept.

The lie between them is too great.

The last night of Mercian occupation comes quicker then Merlin would have liked, not yet ready to give up the freedom and completeness that Emrys provides, but he can feel winter in the air as the night cools and the stone grows icy beneath his feet.

Arthur is sleeping restlessly when she enters his rooms, the fire low in the hearth allowing an encroaching chill into the air. 

She tends to it halfheartedly, until the flames have grown once more and a heat seeps into the tired bones of her body. When she stands she can feel more than just the heat of the fire on her form as Arthur eyes her figure from the bed, his blankets pulled back and chest bare in an invitation that she can no longer ignore now that time has escaped her.

Silently she joins Arthur, already grieving a relationship that never was and the lies that exist between them.

Arthur, already bare to his sleep hose strips her with the utmost care, kissing every new inch of skin revealed to him as if she were a precious gift. He caresses her breasts before replacing them with his lips, feeling softer than satin on her skin.

She tries to expel the melancholy from her mind by returning the touch, his skin hot under her fingers. She traces down the strong form of his shoulders to his softly-haired chest, petting it gently until he laughs into her bosom before she moves _lower_ gripping his manhood firmly just as she know she likes.

Arthur groans in pleasure, tangling his fingers into her dark hair as she teases him, experimenting with different speeds and pressure until she can see in his face he’s ready to spend. 

She pulls herself free of him to take his cock into her mouth, suddenly more than anything, wanting to feel his hot sword on her lips. 

She licks at his crown, worshiping and adoring him in a way that is usually forbidden, until she can hear Arthur swear at her taunting and swallows him down in one motion.

Arthur cries out in pleasure as he comes down her throat and Merlin swears she hears her real name spill from his lips, but it must be wishful thinking because when she asks if he can ready again the only thing that he says with a tender fondness is "Idiot."

* * *

**41.**

"Why didn't you come home for the funeral?"

Gwen doesn't look accusing, just sad. The house is half-empty and hollowed out around her, boxes stacked in corners, packing material in neat piles beside them.

Elyan isn't sure what he should say. What comes out of his mouth is, "I didn't know if he'd have wanted me there."

_Now_ Gwen looks accusing. They both know that isn't true.

-

The truth is, when Elyan came out, he'd expected a bigger reaction. Which was why he didn't come out all the way, not really.

"Welcome to the club, mate!" Gwaine got his arm up around the back of Elyan's neck and pulled him into a friendly headlock. It was the kind of rough-housing he'd learned from Arthur. Elyan tolerated the indignity for about three seconds before jabbing him in the ribs.

"Oi!" But Gwaine laughed and let go.

Leon was holding out his hand for Elyan to shake, like saying "I'm gay" was some sort of thing to be congratulated on. Maybe it was, for some people.

Elyan shook Leon's hand, and smiled, and let Percy pound him on the back, and didn't speak, and didn't speak, and didn't speak.

-

He could have told Gwaine; he sees that now.

Gwaine was the only guy in their group who proudly declared himself bi, and no one gave him any grief for it.

-Except that was a lie. People in their broad circle gave him constant grief. They made jokes about how many people he'd slept with, how easy he was. They made jokes right in front of Gwaine, forcing him to laugh with them or make things uncomfortable. Gwaine might not hesitate to fight other people's battles for them, but he was terrible at tackling his own.

Elyan cursed himself for a coward. He could have stood up for Gwaine. He could have been honest with his friends.

He told his father instead.

-

Dad had been confused. Not hostile, not angry, not asking Elyan to change. He just didn't know what Elyan meant, or what he wanted.

"So you like women?" Dad set down his fork and gave Elyan his full attention. "You still want to marry a woman, but you want to date men too?" Deep grooves wrinkled his forehead as he tried to understand.

Elyan sighed. "No, Da, I don't know who I want to marry, or if I want to get married at all. I just like both men and women." He pushed his plate away, not really hungry anymore. Behind him, Gwen bustled in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.

"Oh," Dad said, his forehead smoothing out. Then he got up from the table and came around to give Elyan a one-armed hug.

Hugs were always Dad's way of dealing with anything that upset his children, especially when he couldn't do anything about it.

Gwen made them skip to dessert.

+

Fear made him lose time, lose people.

"Merlin wants to know who my boyfriend is," Freya said quietly. "I told him it's none of his business."

Elyan buried his head the fall of her hair over her shoulder. She'd lie for him, he knew. He'd never brought her home to meet his Dad, never let her tell their friends. He didn't want to hear, "You're cured now, eh mate?" He didn't want to be cut out of the community, Gwaine's headlocks and Percy's backslaps and Leon's handshakes. He didn't want to be "Oh, you're not gay anymore?"

It wasn't fair to Freya, what fear made him ask of her.

He went down on her that night for what seemed like forever, lips and tongue moving over her sensitive, swollen flesh in a silent apology. _I'm sorry_ he said with a flick of his tongue across her clit. _I'll try to be braver,_ he promised with a graze of teeth.

She came apart above him, shaking and silent as always, and when he looked up, she was staring down at him with so much love and sadness that he felt like he could finally cry.

Her arms tugged him up, and she held on so tight he thought it might be okay to break.

+

"We're dating," he told the room, tucking an arm around Freya's waist. "Eight months now."

Merlin blinked, then slowly smiled. Arthur opened his mouth, but Gwaine leaned over to casually slap a hand over it.

"Congratulations, mate," Gwaine said sincerely.

Elyan breathed for what felt like the first time in years.

* * *

**42.**

As plaintive and inferior as a servant's position can be, Gwen however learned early on the benefits of secreted alcoves within the castle.

Chaste had been her discovery, only hearing gossip from the scullery.

It was, perhaps, eventual that _Merlin_ knew of them as well.

*

Gwen counted herself fortunate to watch Merlin blossom from a mere clumsy boy to a sturdy, confident man. 

As his queen, now she could only watch from afar.

Never by herself, not with Arthur pressing a full-bodied lean into her back. His open mouth trailing softly over Gwen's lovely skin, brown as oak. The odor of laboriously sweating bodies and fluids invading Gwen's new-found sensitivity, both equal parts revolting and beginning to arouse her.

They both watched, in darkness and strained breathing, as Merlin fucked his cock up to drag against a boy's oiled, pert arse, laughing and red-cheeked.

Low and throaty, the noise of Merlin's laughter jerked Arthur's own cock against his breeches and Gwen, rutting him further into her thigh.

"He's been lying about picking herbs… " he whispered, nearly growing.

Gwen bit down on her lower lip, shivering at Arthur's possessive voice. 

She and Arthur understood that, despite their fondness for him, this was how it had to be. Merlin was free to his own dalliances. He often flirted with the maidservants, from what Gwen knew, and even with Gaius's newest apprentice ( _…Daegal, was that his name?_ ). She caught him staring longingly in Merlin's direction, pupils wide-dark and nostrils flaring.

Perhaps to spare the king and queen's feelings, Merlin didn't speak the truth.

"Merlin always lies about picking herbs," she reminded Arthur, smiling. Gwen reached out, gently humming and combing her fingers through fine, blond hair.

Touching him seemed to bring ease.

He spread his hands over her velvet, richly clothed dress and her sides, cupping over her tender breasts and dropping to the mildest swell of her belly, Arthur's fingers lacing together. 

Warmth and love flamed inside Gwen, for her husband, for the tiny life growing in her. 

And the same warmth blazed hotter and pulsed, slicking her thighs.

Daegal's hands knuckled the end of the wood table, hips jostled forward in rhythm to Merlin burying inside him and cries emptying him, heightened with pleasure.

She hadn't known what drove them into their current location, but Gwen wouldn't lose this thrill. She spun into Arthur, leveling his face away from the writhing display and kissing him rougher than necessary. It seemed to be _exactly_ what Arthur desired as he pulled her close with a loud, needy groan and frisking up her skirts.

Even with their over-eagerness, he couldn't have her like this. Not without one of Arthur's salves from the bedchamber or even a cream to smooth the passage.

The damp gland of Arthur's cock nudged against the seam of her legs, as she parted them instinctively, her willowy hands trembling on Arthur's shoulders.

With little, slow thrusts, he worked in the cradling heat of her inner thighs. 

The pressure directly rubbing on her clitoris brought on a long, ragged sigh. 

Arthur nipped teasingly on her earlobe, converting her exhale into a hitching giggle. Her arms embraced him, savoring his nearness and broad warmth.

Gwen wished to spend the next eternity like this, her head tingling and floaty. She would _never_ leave Arthur's strong hands, riding him and clenching her muscles, just seconds from him falling to her mercy. Listening to Arthur devoutly murmur her name again, and again.

As soon as she recognized the familiar twitches, how tightly Arthur's bollocks drew up, Gwen took his prick with her hand. She breathed in, pushing the swollen, bulbous head past those folds of her opening. Gwen met her own desire with the exquisite friction of her fingertips, stifling a cry with her other hand. 

Arthur released himself in a low whine, spasming inside her, unable to fill her cervix and dribbling out.

Feeling disgusting in a combination of their mess, but satiated and energetic, Gwen shushed him, palming Arthur's head. She urged him downwards and faintly kissed its crown as Arthur rested his face against the tops of her exposed breasts.

Blood no longer pounding in her ears, Gwen noticed the absolute silence.

No moans, no whispers or pleas.

She peered quickly through the sunlit cracks of the battered, wood door.

Merlin ushered a confused Daegal out of the antechamber, still beautifully red-cheeked. 

Her heart skipping a beat when he aimed a look and slow, coy grin towards her.

* * *

**43.**

"When were you going to tell me, Merlin?" Arthur hisses. He jerks Merlin even closer and twists Merlin's arm behind him. 

"Arthur! I.. I didn’t…" Merlin yelps.

Arthur’s blue eyes are wide with...shock? Anger? Before Merlin can react, Arthur lunges at him with a guttural sound. 

Arthur’s hand cups Merlin's arse, and he wiggles involuntarily, gripped by Arthur’s sudden outburst even as he’s uncertain where this is going. His cock twitches, excited by the turn of events. 

"You’ve been wearing these things, Merlin?" Arthur delves into Merlin’s joggers and slips his fingers into the wispy fabric hidden beneath the cotton. 

"I…." Merlin squeaks, hardly daring to breath as Arthur’s fingers trail over his bare skin, running just under waistband of his underwear. _Oh god, his underwear._

Merlin’s cheeks flame at the thought. He closes his eyes, unable to meet Arthur’s gaze. What must Arthur think? That Merlin is some deviant? He waits for Arthur to say something, but there's only their heavy breathing. The darkness heightens all Merlin’s other senses, and he bites down a gasp when Arthur’s clever hands - when did both of them get involved? - knead his arse cheeks. 

Arthur can’t seem to decide between grabbing Merlin's bare bum and stroking the fabric. His hands are here, there, everywhere, and Merlin, god help him, Merlin loves it. 

Merlin is lost in his own world of sensory overload. He’s not sure when it happened, but his joggers have been pushed down. Cool air brushes against his backside, drifting in through the eyelets of his panties, while Arthur’s hot hands rub the curve of his cheeks. Firm fingers trail under the delicate fabric, making Merlin writhe with pleasure. 

Merlin’s cock is fully interested now. He arches forward, frantically rubbing himself against the broad expanse of Arthur’s chest. He wants more of Arthur; Arthur wanting him and touching him so much is making his head spin. 

"So hot, Merlin," Arthur purrs, growly and predatory. Merlin's shock that Arthur's not disgusted lasts a split second, to be replaced by a surge of lust for this fit specimen before him. 

The flimsy lace panties can hardly hold Merlin's dick; it's painfully hard and straining as it peeks over the lace. Arthur's noticed, because he gives a needy moan and relinquishes Merlin's arse to spin him around and press him against the wall. 

"Arthur?" Merlin's not happy and leans back, but Arthur has him in hand, and Merlin is purring with pleasure again. 

Arthur palms Merlin's dick through the lattice. Merlin looks down to see the rosy head smushed up against its filigree cage. The lace is soaked, the colour darkened where the cum is leaking out, overflowing, and the pretty patterns twisted and distorted as Arthur grabs and twists. Hard. 

Merlin moans and huffs, gripping Arthur's forearms frantically and utterly careless about propriety. The rough scratch and forceful tugs have him on the edge. His throat is tight with emotion and the pent-up need to just come already.

He can’t give a fuck right now about how his panties will be ruined. 

It's just as well because Arthur chooses that moment to pull at the lace, and the delicate seams give. 

Merlin comes, and sags, panting. The shreds of fabric hang off him. 

Arthur's breath is like a caress by Merlin's ear. "Oops. Looks like I'll need to get you another pair, Merlin. This pair's all wet, you'd better let me get rid of them."

* * *

**44.**

Morgana placed the flat of her hand against Arthur’s door. There had been many nights she’d thought about doing this but something had always kept her in her own bed. Perhaps the romantic notion that one day she’d be his properly, his queen but now that was unimaginable. Uther had kept up the facade for so long, promising her betrothal to Arthur even though he knew all along nothing could ever come of it because Arthur was her _brother_. Not just in name, not just because she had grown up with him. They shared the same Pendragon blood, running hot through their veins. It should revolt her but all that turned her stomach was Uther himself. Knowing what he’d done to them, keeping them apart yet drawing them together; it only made Morgana want Arthur more ferociously.

She opened his door, no lock or guard capable of stopping her. Her white nightdress made her seem like a ghost in the weak light and she couldn’t blame Arthur if at first he thought she was an apparition but when she climbed into his bed and reached out to him, he couldn’t ignore her solidity. 

"Morgana?" he asked sleepily, concern clouding his eyes. "Another nightmare?"

"No, a dream." Morgana smiled at the memory of how, before she had Gwen, he was the one to hold her when she screamed.

"Then why-" he started but Morgana stopped him with the determined look in her eyes.

"We’re all but married anyway, are we not?" she asked, inching the covers down. His hand caught hers just before they slipped away from him entirely.

"But my father-" he tried again and Morgana’s breath halted at the word – he really should say _her_ father as well. _Our_ father.

"He doesn’t have to know," Morgana said smoothly, though she was shaking. "Our little secret?"

Arthur opened his mouth, no doubt a thousand other objections waiting on his tongue that she could brush away easily as dust but lacking the patience, she consumed them all with a kiss before they could be uttered. 

Steering him onto his back, Morgana made a show like she’d done this a hundred times before. Her hands dragged the blankets aside and hiked up her nightdress as she straddled his body, her weight divided between each knee. She could feel him hard beneath her and the barest touch of skin against skin sent a blaze of fire running through her. 

Before she could go further and cross the final line, she found herself spun, back against the soft pillows and Arthur's face above her, blue eyes staring down into her own so intensely she could barely breath. 

She drew her legs up around his hips, untangling her dress once again before placing his hand between them. She was tired of waiting for a day she'd learned may never come. She ached to have him inside her and trembled in frustration. With her nails digging into his skin, she finally won out and felt him breach her maidenhead, the pain all the more satisfying because now, she knew this night could never be denied. Uther would never be able to sell her off to any other husband.

It was like any act that passed between them; fast and rough with heated words whispered when they could catch their breath. It could have been a swordfight or a brawl but it wasn't. She marked him with her nails and teeth as he left bruises and pressure marks with his fingers. The same scrabbling fury she usually felt around him rose in her until she screamed, just to extract it from her body. It reached its pinnacle and broke over her, her skin aflame and her body burning.

When she had cooled again, she found Arthur beside her, spilling his seed on his own skin rather than inside her. It didn’t matter; she had what she needed from him already. When the time came, he would see that even as she shone the light of truth on Uther, she wasn't betraying him. He would stand by her when she secured the throne for them both. But that was not a thought for tonight.

She gathered her dress about her and set her feet on the cold floor. "Remember Arthur, our little secret."

He nodded and let her go; trailing his hand over the warm sheets she'd left.

"My secret," she whispered, closing his door and placing the flat of her hand against it. "For now."

* * *


	7. Group C (clean)

**45.**

It’s raining when he comes. When he finds her, slipping through the narrow door to her room, it’s clear his oilcloth has not kept him dry.

"You’re late," Hunith says. She’s been expecting him all week, kept craning her head out the windows as she pounded herbs for Gaius, but he’s still managed to startle her. He always does.

"Bit difficult to fly against a storm wind," he replies, water dripping off of every inch of him.

"That’s no excuse, Balinor," she says, but her lips betray her with a smile, and when she opens her arms he comes to her, crushes her close. The rainwater soaks her, though she doesn’t care two figs about that when she can bury her face in his shoulder, feel the press of his lips against her head. She runs her hands down his back, and when he sighs she pulls back, still smiling. "Off," she instructs, plucking at his sleeve. "You’re ruining my dress."

"Is that what we’re calling it?" he says, pursing his lips against his own grin, but he shrugs the oilcloth off obediently. "Seems a bit flimsy," he adds, voice muffled as he pulls his tunic over his head. "Your brother might object if you wore it in public."

"You mean _you’d_ object," she teases. "Gaius would raise his eyebrow, like—yes," she says, laughing as he emerges from the confines of the tunic with his eyebrow cocked outrageously. "Exactly like that." She sits on the cot, stretching back to watch him shuck his trousers. It’s true that the shift she’s wearing is hardly appropriate: it’s thin, and sticks to her skin where it’s wet, smooth over the swell of her belly and her breasts, her nipples dark through the pale fabric. He stares when she stretches her hands over her head, one leg still caught in his trousers, looking charmingly ridiculous in nothing but his bare skin and candlelight, his cock sticking out like a standard.

She slides one foot toward her body and crooks a finger at him, impatient.

He goes. "Gods, you’re beautiful," he breathes, trailing a line of kisses up her throat from her collar until he finds her mouth. His stubble is nearly a beard, and it scratches at her, his cock hot and stiff when she reaches for it. He kisses harder when she strokes, and gods, she wants him. She hardly ever has him—it seems the whole world gets hold of him before she’s allowed close, dragons and kings all with an iron grip that’s meant to leave her in the cold.

They aren’t meant to have this. She’s told herself it doesn’t matter when it’s her bed he seeks in the dark, but the knowledge doubles the ache she carries when he rides away, borne beyond her reach by wind and fire.

She gasps when he slides a hand up her thigh beneath the shift, pushing it up until it bunches at her waist; when he runs his fingers down the crease of her hip, stroking the narrow strip of skin where her leg meets her cunt, she groans.

"Hush," he murmurs, but his touch is sliding toward desperate, his voice uneven. He doesn’t stop her when she whimpers at the brush of his fingers against her slick folds, though she bites her lip against the noise. When he slips a finger into her, she reaches blindly for his shoulder to tug him toward her, demanding more.

"It’s not your _finger_ I’m wanting," she tells him, breathless, and it’s his turn to groan, pulling his hand away to smear the wet across her skin and push his cock into her instead: deliberately slow, utterly unbearable. She tilts her hips to meet him, wrapping her legs around him as he grinds deep, and both of them are too loud now. They catch each other’s moans with open kisses, without finesse, but the rocking squeak of the cot betrays them—it’s not enough to stop them, not now, not when he’s fucking her exactly right, both of them split open by it and spilling against each other. She matches his thrusts, scores his shoulders with her nails, and when he shudders she catches him in a last furious kiss as he shakes apart, rocking up against him until he pulls out, breath ragged, fills her with his fingers instead, pushing as fast and deep as she needs until she falls apart beneath him, the rest of the world vanished for this one stolen moment.

* * *

**46.**

Merlin tucked his shirt in, diligently checking that it was in all the way around. He slipped on his jacket, slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the house. The morning was cool, and Merlin could feel the garter he was wearing sliding against his skin with every step. He shuddered, just a little, swallowing hard.

His heart was almost beating out his chest - he was convinced someone was going to be able to tell, to see. He’d spent what felt like hours looking in the mirror, trying to find the lines of the underwear, the stockings.

No one could see, but he wasn’t sure how walking affected it. He hoped that no-one would check him out, would be paying attention enough to notice. Especially once he got into the city centre - there were more than enough people there. He could merge into the crowd.

The silk knickers were a soft, almost wet-feeling drag against his half hard cock, higher cut that he was used to, making him feel exposed under the trousers.

He felt fucking divine. He wanted to wear heels, and a corset. Merlin entertained buying a corset and wearing it under a dark shirt next week. The heels he’d never get away with, but maybe at home. 

When Merlin got into the office, he sat at his desk, answering support tickets as always. The occasional feeling of the material of the stockings against his legs, or the elastic of the garter against his thigh was an illicit thrill all day, and he ended up having to go to the bathroom at lunch and have a quick, bitten off wank.

~~~

"Merlin, can you come to my office please," Arthur said, just before home time. Merlin frowned.

"Sure, let me just finish replying to this ticket." 

Arthur nodded and went into his room. Merlin rolled his eyes as he pressed send, wondering what he’d managed to cock up this time. 

Merlin knocked on the door, then entered, closing it behind him. Arthur looked up, and turned his computer screen off. 

"Merlin, thanks for coming." 

Merlin frowned. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did," Arthur said, an inscrutable look on his face. "You’ve been acting strangely today. It took me a while to figure out why, but I think i’ve got it." 

"I don’t know what you mean?" Merlin asked, trying to fight down a blush. 

"Merlin," Arthur got up and walked up to Merlin, standing far too close to Merlin for comfort. Merlin could smell Arthur’s no-doubt ridiculously expensive cologne. Merlin swallowed.

Arthur dropped to the floor, lifting Merlin’s trouser leg before Merlin had a chance to protest. Arthur’s hand was burning hot through the stockings. Merlin’s body couldn’t decide between embarrassment or arousal, but it felt like Merlin was dying either way. 

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, fingers clutching at Merlin’s ankle. "You’re wearing - Christ. Are you-" Arthur sounded breathless. "Christ," he said again, shakily. "You’re going to be the death of me, Merlin."

Merlin looked into Arthur’s flushed face. "I - imagine how I feel." He managed to get out.

"Fuck, Merlin, I want to see," Arthur asked, looking from Merlin’s face to his crotch. Merlin let out a strangled huff whine thing but nodded. Arthur opened Merlin’s trousers, pulling them down. 

"Fuck," Arthur said again, one hand warm in the gap between the stockings and knickers. There was a slightly damp spot where Merlin’s dick was hard against the red silk of the knickers. Arthur leant forward and mouthed at it, and Merlin thought his knees were going to give way.

Arthur slipped the knickers down to just under Merlin’s balls, swallowing Merlin down. Merlin let out a yell, hands gripping at Arthur’s shoulder and hair. 

"Shit, Arthur, shit." 

Arthur sucked at Merlin sloppily, and Merlin watched his spit-shiny cock slide in and out of Arthur’s mouth. He whined and tugged at Arthur’s hair. 

"Coming," He managed to say, before his hips stuttered and he came down Arthur’s throat. 

Arthur had a hand around his own cock, and was coming over Merlin’s trousers before Merlin had a chance to offer to do anything.

Merlin half-collapsed onto the floor, panting and looking at Arthur in disbelief.

"What the fuck?" He asked.

"I can't believe you wore that to work," Arthur said, not answering Merlin’s question at all.

"I was considering a corset next week.

Arthur whined and kissed Merlin, mouth still bitter from Merlin’s come.

"Definitely going to be the death of me."

* * *

**47.**

Gwaine suspects something's wrong when he answers the door and Elena throws herself at him without even saying hello, but he knows for absolute sure when they make it to his bed and he strokes down her belly and she jumps out of her skin.

"Hey," he frowns. "You didn't come over to fuck, did you?"

Elena flops down on top of him, settling between his legs. "I did, I thought it would help-" She makes a vague gesture, then wraps her arms around his calves, squeezing. Gwaine makes a sympathetic face, threading his fingers into her hair. 

"What's up?"

"My cousin Vivian's getting married next month, and my dad's been really predictable about it. Do you know who the last person he set me up with was? _Arthur Pendragon_."

"I am genuinely sorry for you," Gwaine says, "and would also pay good money to see that on tape."

Elena headbutts him. "You don't understand. I know he means well, but the way he's acting like there's a flashing light above my head that says 'GOOD CATCH!!' which is about to go out at any minute _sucks_." Gwaine scratches over her scalp, tugging gently at her hair, and Elena's eyes flutter closed. "'m sorry," she mumbles, "I didn't mean to unload this on you."

" _I'm_ sorry your dad is stuck in the 50s and can't see that you'd make a fucking terrible trophy wife."

"I know, right? If only I had a date to Vivian's wedding, or even a kind, sympathetic friend willing to pretend in order to save me from being thrown at every eligible yet no less uninterested bachelor there."

Gwaine laughs. "I'm not exactly good pretend boyfriend material, Elena."

"I think you are," she says, and Gwaine has to lean down and kiss the earnestness off her face. She links her hands behind his neck, using her hold on him to twist herself around and drop into his lap. "Do the hair thing again, harder."

Gwaine does, and this time she squirms, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. He grinds his hips up reflexively and thinks about putting on a condom, but he's not entirely sure this is heading that way and, anyway, he'd have to move Elena for that. 

"You could've told me before," he says, still moving against her, his dick slip-sliding through the wetness between her thighs. "You're my friend too, you know. I'd be your fake boyfriend any day of the-"

Elena puts her fingers in his mouth. "That's really sweet," she says, "but I think I'll take the fucking over the talking now, if that's okay."

Gwaine grins, already fumbling for a condom. 

*

The day of the wedding dawns bright and terrifying and far, far too early. Gwaine's mostly awake by the time they get to the motorway, though, thanks to the thermos of coffee that Elena brought with her when she picked him up. 

"So," he says, kicking his feet up on the dashboard, "how long have we been dating?"

"Six weeks. That's why I haven't told anyone about it, in case it was premature."

"Sounds reasonable. Who did the asking?"

"Me," Elena says. "No one's going to believe us if we try and play it the other way around. I mean, look at you."

"Look at _you_ ," Gwaine retorts. Elena's eyes are all smoky and she's wearing a long, green dress that flares at her waist with matching Doc Martens, and the thing is, Gwaine thinks she's beautiful in shorts and an old t-shirt, and Gwaine thinks she's beautiful in absolutely nothing at all, but this, right now, is different. She looks nothing like his Elena, which makes the whole lying-about-being-in-love-with-her thing feel a whole lot easier.

"Anyway," Elena continues loftily, "I did kiss you first, so technically I did do the asking."

Gwaine shakes his head, but he's smiling, can't help it. "Yeah, whatever, technically."

An hour later, Elena parks neatly in front of the old converted church Vivian's getting married in. Gwaine inhales deeply, drains the thermos and says, "Right. Let's go."

Elena grabs him by the hand. "Wait. You sure you wanna do this? I only told Vivian I was bringing someone and I understand if you're not comfortable-"

"I am," Gwaine says. "Merlin made me watch a fuck-ton of romantic comedies with him last week. Seriously, I've got this."

Elena grins. "Great," she says, letting go of Gwaine's wrist only long enough to weave their fingers together. " _Now_ let's go."

* * *

**48.**

** Good Boy **

"You’ve been hiding something from me."

Arthur’s eyes went impossibly wide as he twisted around to face his lover, looking at him in disbelief.

"If this is about stealing your neckerchief – "

"I still want that back, you know." Merlin snorted, but smiled as he hiked a leg over Arthur’s hip, stroking his foot down the king’s thigh. "But I meant the more… _sensual_ thing." He purred, leaning down to kiss Arthur’s bared neck.

Arthur blushed darkly, trying to turn his face away from Merlin to hide his embarrassment. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I think you do."

Arthur opened his mouth to tell Merlin that he was being ridiculous, when his arms were suddenly yanked over his head by an invisible source, making him gasp in surprise. He looked back at Merlin just in time to see his lover’s eyes fade from shimmering gold to their normal blue. Oh.

"Gotcha." Merlin grinned.

He moved to straddle Arthur’s hips, humming as his hands roamed his king’s upper body, tracing the taunt muscles of his chest and arms. "Beautiful." Merlin murmured, brushing his lips over his lover’s heart. "This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be at the mercy of me and my magic?"

Arthur bit his lip to try and muffle his soft groan, his cheeks stained red as he nodded. Merlin looked triumphant at the admission but quickly schooled his expression back to a gentler smile. 

"Hush, love, I’ve got you…" Merlin whispered, claiming Arthur’s lips in a soft kiss. 

He waited until Arthur started responding before pulling away, shooting him a grin before starting to leave a trail of kisses down his lover’s body. A scrape of teeth at his neck, a tongue flicked across a nipple, a bit of suction by his belly…. Arthur’s soft mewls of pleasure were music to Merlin’s ears. Another whispered spell had the king’s legs open decadently – making Merlin privy to the sight of his lover spread eagle on the bed, held fast and safe by his magic.

"Aren’t you stunning?" He couldn’t help whispering, lying between Arthur’s legs as he smoothed reverent hands up and down his lover’s open thighs. Arthur twitched under his touch, another quiet moan escaping his lips. Merlin grinned. "You’re like a special feast laid out just for me. Shall I taste you?"

He didn’t waste another second. Before Arthur could even think of answering, Merlin licked a long stripe up his lover’s cock, flicking his tongue against the slit once he reached the head. 

" _Merlin_." Arthur breathed, his voice shaky. Merlin just hummed, shifting back down his lover’s body as he nuzzled at the king’s hip.

"My good boy." He whispered fondly, looking up with curious eyes as Arthur shivered in return. "You like that? Boy?"

Arthur’s blush darkened as he shook his head, looking away. _So that’s how it’s going to be_ , Merlin thought, a smirk twisting his lips as he took Arthur’s chin in hand, forcing him, albeit gently, to look at him. 

"Answer me, _boy_."

Arthur let out a shaky moan, unable to hold it back any longer. Merlin grinned, rewarding him with a hard, demanding kiss. "Good boy." He repeated against his lover’s lips.

He reached down to stroke Arthur, tightening the king’s invisible bonds as he did so. Arthur sounded completely wrecked as he tried to arch up into the touch, groaning when his bonds wouldn’t allow it. Merlin kept whispering filthy things into his lover’s ear, stroking him harder and faster whenever Arthur responded with a reaction of his own. "My gorgeous boy, do you like being at my mercy? Do you like my magic holding you down while I do as I please? Look at you, all flushed and desperate, you must be the prettiest boy in the kingdom…."

A few more minutes of this and Arthur was done for. He came with a cry, writhing as much as he could as he painted both their stomachs with white stripes. Merlin stroked him through his orgasm, reaching down with his other hand to take himself in hand, soon adding his own come to the mess between them.

He released Arthur a little while later, wrapping his arms around him in a protective embrace. He trailed kisses over his lover’s neck and cheeks, saving his lips for last.

" _Good boy_."

* * *

**49.**

"No One Knows I'm A Lesbian," her shirt read. His shirt had a giant pink triangle on the front. They were handing out flyers- Qamelot's Queer Qrafters, and the Men Who Like Baking, respectively. Lady Punk's music filled the air, along with rainbow balloons and glitter.

It was Pride Camelot, and the alphabet soup was out in spades.

"What do you call yourselves?" She asked him, gesturing at his flyers. "Mulb?"

He laughed.

"No, mostly we call ourselves Baked Cocksuckers," he said. He grinned, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"That's brilliant! I'm here with Q-cubed," she explained, and stuck out a hand. "Gwen."

"Merlin. Nice to meet you." They shook, then laughed.

"Is this your first Pride?" Gwen asked.

"No," he said, "but I'm new to Camelot. We had a parade back home, but it was nothing like this.'

"It's wild, isn't it," Gwen agreed. "All these people, and the clothing, and they're all so happy. I've been coming for years, but it's still special."

"I'm just glad Gwaine made me come," Merlin said. "That is, I'm glad he made me hand these out," he said, waving the flyers, "or I would never have gotten here on my own."

"Want to make the rounds together?" Gwen asked. "I'll show you how to do it."

"How hard can it be?" said Merlin.

Gwen showed him the ropes- the right amount of flattery, flirting, and bulldog determination required to pass his burden on to the heaving crowd. By the end of it Merlin felt like the flirting god, like he could charm the hair back on to Captain Picard's head.

He told Gwen this and she laughed, clear and delighted with her head thrown back.

"We'll have to keep you away from Mordred," she said. "He loves Star Wars, and I understand there's a but of enmity there. He's been out to kill Arthur ever since he found out his first crush was Captain Kirk. Arthur's, that is. I have a feeling Morded's first crush was- who was it? The scary breathing one, with the big mask."

"Darth Vader?" Merlin asked.

"Him," Gwen said. "Mordred's a bit of an odd duck." Merlin nodded along with her. Liking Star Wars more that Trek was more than enough proof of insanity for him.

Flyers dispersed, they started drifting out of the stalls and toward the back of the concert crowd. Lady Punk had long since finished, but a drag show had started and everyone had crushed in closer to the stage, leaving empty benches and slushie-cups in their wake. Music echoed and pulsed, discordant and loud, but it followed the swing of the day when Gwen sat down next to Merlin- quite close.

"I think I ought to mention that I'm not actually a lesbian," Gwen said into Merlin's ear. Merlin turned to her, fast enough to accidentally clip her nose, and gestured at her chest.

"But your shirt!"

Gwen cradled her face. "Yes, well, that's because I'm bisexual. Morgana thinks it's the funniest joke to put her only non-lesbian friend in this shirt. Because nobody knows I'm a lesbian, because I'm not." Merlin goggled a bit, and Gwen said, "So, you can stop staring at my breasts any time now. Unless, that is, you don't mind me staring at yours, and that would look a bit ridiculous, us both staring at our bosoms instead of making eye contact."

"Right, right," Merlin said. "Well, me too."

"I should stop staring at your breasts?" Gwen asked.

"No! I'm flexible too. Like, probably 75% gay, but I make exceptions." Merlin said with a wave of his hand.

"Interested in making an exception now?" Gwen asked. "We could be subversively heteronormative." She grinned and bit her lip. Merlin gulped.

"Alright," he said, and-

Kissing Gwen was like the first summer fruit- yielding and soft and sweet. They broke apart, and he caught Gwen glancing about, as if for approaching Queer Police.

"More?" Merlin asked, and they did. More and more until their lips were red, and their hair was mussed, and there were most definitely people watching, but neither of them cared.

"Right," Gwen said. "I don't usually do this, but-"

"Me neither," Merlin assured her.

"Mine?"

"Yes."

* * *

**50.**

Gwen's gathering laundry from Elyan's room when she finds the magazine. It's obviously one the things she's not supposed to touch, but she's fourteen and curious.

Mostly, the magazine does nothing for her. The pictures are dull and the stories too trite. But a few pictures in the back of the magazine, of a big-breasted, slim-hipped woman in white lace and another woman tying her to a bed and running a riding crop over the swell of her ass, send heat straight to her core. 

It makes Gwen gasp and slam the magazine shut, hiding it under her pillow and going back to her chores.

The next day, she slips the magazine back into Elyan's room and tries to forget about it. 

-

"You're so good, Gwen," Morgana says with a grateful smile, when she accepts Gwen's sandwich at lunch. 

"The best of all of us," Arthur says. 

Gwen blushes and ducks her head, pleased and conflicted. Good girls don't like naughty things, and Gwen's the best girl of them all.

-

Lance is gorgeous. Lance is talented. Lance is sweet. Lance is the most perfect person ever.

Lance is incredibly boring.

He treats her with kid gloves, not daring to press too hard, and makes sure she is stretched and ready when they have sex. It's not even sex, it's making love. Lance worships her body.

It should be enough, but it's not.

Lance always treats her gently the morning after, bringing her breakfast and cuddling with her, and she wants to scream, but the look in his eyes stops her cold.

-

Gwen feels like falling to pieces. She's twenty-five and cannot get a satisfying orgasm, cannot stop her boyfriend from hurting, cannot stop her life from spiraling out of control. Mostly, she cannot talk, and it feels like she's suffocating, drowning in air and dying. From what, she's not sure.

-

Morgana is powerful and demanding and sometimes Gwen just stares at her in awe. Gwen wants to lick Morgana's shoes, wants Morgana to tell her what to do, wants Morgana to run soft, supple leather against her skin. 

But she can't want those things. She's nothing like Morgana, too soft and gentle and nice. Too _good_ , and good girls don't like bad things.

-

Lance stares at her, eyes wounded, and Gwen wants to fall apart and break, but she can't, has no right when she's the one breaking up with him.

"It's - I just - there's something missing."

"Is this because of the sex?" Lance asks, blunt in ways he usually isn't. "I can improve, I promise, we can work this out together-"

"No, Lance. It's not you, I- I promise." Gwen wants to laugh, but she doesn't want to hurt him anymore. "It's all me. And one day, you're going to make someone so happy. That person just won't be me. I'm sorry."

-

"Morgana?" Gwen says, stepping into the darkened flat and peering around. Morgana's text was cryptic and Gwen's pulse skyrockets when she doesn't immediately see Morgana. 

"On your knees," Morgana says, from somewhere on Gwen's left, and she turns, startled. Morgana is a darker shadow in a dark room and it takes a moment for Gwen to spot her. Morgana clears her throat, reminding her of the order, and Gwen sinks to her knees without hesitation.

"Crawl to me." 

Gwen crawls, her body obeying on instinct, and the closer she gets to Morgana, the lighter she feels. She stops just in front of Morgana, kneeling there, head down.

Morgana drags her foot along Gwen's torso, using the tip of her heel to nudge Gwen's face up. Her fingers tangle in Gwen's curls, pulling just this side of painful. "Well?" she asks, and Gwen automatically lowers her head, kisses along Morgana's foot, up the side of her ankle. 

It's like something breaks in her, because she presses her forehead to Morgana's shin and cries, painful sobs shaking her body. She doesn't even realize it when Morgana wraps her up and holds her close, rocking her back and forth until Gwen's tears stop. 

Gwen feels ashamed that something so simple, so small, as being ordered to kneel and crawl and kiss Morgana's feet broke her, and she starts to draw back. "I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"You don't, and that's okay," Morgana says, "I'll help you. You're not going anywhere." She runs her hand down Gwen's face, wiping away the tears. "You're going to be _my_ good girl now."

Gwen shudders at Morgana's words, something deep and primal inside her finally falling into place.

* * *

**51.**

Gwaine raised his eyebrows as his men dragged the squirming, scowling boy into the clearing. Shabby trousers and a blue tunic covered his skinny limbs. Blue eyes glared under a shock of dark hair and over an odd red neckerchief. "This is the virgin you brought me?"

"Only one we could find, bos-er, my liege," Percival said. "Settle down, you."

The boy kept squirming, though he wasn't making much headway against Percival's dense muscle. "Why do you people keep insisting I'm a virgin? Do I look like a virgin?"

"You don't look unlike a virgin." Gwaine stalked around the boy. "And gods know we haven't found any others, so you'll have to do."

"Do for what?" The boy's arms were still stuck in Percival's iron grip, so his legs sidled away on their own.

"The dragon," Gwaine said, and the boy froze, lower body forming an awkward angle between Percival and the ground.

"Dragon?" the boy scoffed. "There aren't any dragons left in this part of the world."

"Is that right?" Gwaine looked pointedly over his shoulder. Steam rose from the craggy cliffs over the ridge. "Well, there's one here, and if he doesn't get his yearly virgin, he gets a bit cranky with the villagers." 

Instantly the boy started thrashing hard enough to stagger even Percival. His limbs twisted with a gangly grace and his eyes flashed almost gold in the sunlight. Gwaine had the unexpected urge to take the boy in his arms to feel him writhe against his body. This might not turn out so badly after all.

"You're not feeding me to a bloody dragon!" 

"Feed you? Nobody's feeding you to anything, lad," Gwaine snorted. "I'm fucking you , is what I'm doing."

Once again the boy stilled, eyebrows drawing together. "What?"

Gwaine turned toward his second-in-command. "Elyan?"

Elyan cleared his throat, readying his proclaiming voice. "And on the summer solstice, before the hour of the sun's setting, the prince of the land shall deflower a youth untouched on the altar draconis. So shall the resulting magic soothe the beast--or just get him off, we don't really know."

The boy tilted his head. "You're the prince of the land?"

"Gwaine, Prince of Orkney, at your service." Gwaine shrugged modestly . "And you are?"

"Merlin," the boy said slowly, letting his gaze slide up and down Gwaine's body. His clothing might not be princely, but Gwaine had the full regal package underneath. "Virgin of Ealdor, ready to be serviced."

***

"A bit to the left, if you don't mind." Merlin widened his legs and arched his back, spreading himself over the stone altar in front of the cavern. Gwaine's fingers sank a little deeper into his arse, and Merlin bit his lip with a groan. "Oh, that's perfect. That's brilliant. Right there."

Gwaine groaned a little himself. Merlin's arse squeezed around his slick fingers, almost massaging them. Gwaine's cock smacked against his stomach and ached at that thought of how good that arse was going to feel around his flesh. "Are you sure you're a virgin?" 

Merlin lifted his head and grinned down the length of his naked body. "Aren't you supposed to be making sure I'm not?"

An excellent point, fairly made. Gwaine scrambled up onto the altar and hitched Merlin's legs up. Percival stepped up and helpfully poured some more oil over Gwaine's cock right before it pushed into Merlin's tight, slick body. Gwaine had fucked a lot of virgins--he was somewhat of a specialist--but he'd never been encased in a grip like this before. 

"Fuck," he groaned low and loud before he started to pump into Merlin's heat. "Sorry. Usually I'm... finesse... your arse...."

"Don't worry about it." Merlin was panting, hips bouncing on Gwaine's thighs. "Just fuck me a little harder, if you don't mind."

Gwaine didn't mind. As he fucked into Merlin with strong slaps of his hips, a new rush of steam billowed out from the cavern. A glint like a large reptilian eye flashed from the darkness.

Enjoy the show, you scaly pervert, Gwaine thought just as he shot his load into Merlin's welcoming body.

Merlin's own cock was still shooting long spurts of pearly come when an angry roar blasted out of the cavern. Percival and Elyan took off running back down the ravine while Gwaine was still struggling to pull out of Merlin.

"Shit," he said, and it took a second to realize Merlin had said it at the same time.

"Sorry," Merlin went on. "I'm not actually a virgin. I didn't think it actually mattered."

"That's all right. I'm not a prince, either. Now run!" Gwaine grabbed Merlin's hand and they fled, stark naked, just as the indignant dragon's teeth snapped after them.

* * *

**52.**

At first he tilted.imself it was the way the light would catch in his eyes. distracted by the ces in righteous anger, occasionally in disappointment, but mostly the way they would burn bright with devotion and loyalty. Sometimes when he had drank a little more than he should've, he'll indulge that there was love in those eyes that seemed to see him better than anyone else could. That could see who he might become better than himself. 

It was almost too easy to imagine what he would look spread against the Pendragon red. It wasn't as if Arthur hadn't given Merlin his cloak on the last patrol. Watching discreetly as the cloak highlighted the red cheeks and nose from the cold. Something warm tugged behind his armour and the fine woven metal of his chainmail. It had been just the two of them, a few weeks after the midwinter festival m. The woods had been quiet, the snow falling steadily around them, a blanketing white as far as the eye could see. The warm amusement that he felt when Merlin had complain half-heartedly complained about the cold made him pause. That Merlin was a mere manservant was a lie everyone pretended to be true. 

That Merlin was more than a friend was something Arthur could only hold close. Hoping that his eyes wouldn't give him away the next time he's distracted by the arch of Merlin's neck or the pale skin over the delicate curve of his collarbone. The knowing looks his knights give him are both annoyances and blessings. 

Sometimes Arthur wishes he has the courage to press against Merlin, crowd him against his table after he has been helped to undress. Wishes he could capture the bow shaped lips that have been taunting him, challenging him since the day they had met. Sometimes he dreams of Merlin arching against his touch, eyes halflidded, a mix between want and something more. He wakes aching, guilt lacing through his thoughts as he furtively brings himself off thinking of how Merlin would feel around him. It's always too tense, too distracted by the possibility of Merlin coming to wake him up. And always as he falls, hands sticky, covered in sheen of sweat, his heart clenches---aching for what he cannot have.

As he watches Merlin smile wide at a servant girl, Arthur wonders if this feeling, this secret is something he can hold onto. If it's the only way he can have Merlin by his side, then he'll hold it as tightly as he can. Maybe the dreams will be enough.

* * *

**53.**

"Maybe if I wasn’t a virgin, guys would finally notice me," Merlin muses out loud. If it wasn’t for the alcohol coursing through his veins he wouldn’t let the words slip out and now it’s too late to take them back. So he takes another sip of his beer instead. 

"That doesn’t even make sense," Arthur slurs from beside him, turning around and draping himself across Merlin’s chest. Merlin sinks his fingers into Arthur’s hair automatically, massaging his scalp. It’s become a routine of theirs. Get drunk, cuddle, fall asleep.

"I’d know I’m no longer a virgin. I’d be more confident. It totally makes sense," Merlin grumbles and lets his eyes flutter closed as Arthur hums his contentment and hugs Merlin’s body tighter to himself. 

"We could fuck. No strings attached and all that," Arthur mumbles a moment later and drifts off to sleep before Merlin, shocked by the proclamation, comes with a reply.

 

xxx

 

The breakfast next morning is carried on mostly in silence. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but Merlin misses their friendly banter. 

"I meant what I said yesterday," Arthur says after he finishes his bowl of chocolate cereals. 

"Are you sure?" Merlin asks, stuffing the last bit of toast into his mouth, and grabs his empty mug to wash it. 

Arthur stalks across the kitchen, waits for Merlin to finish and turns him around, crowding him against the kitchen counter. 

"Are _you_ sure?" he asks, looking Merlin straight in the eyes. 

Merlin nods, gripping the edge of the counter. "How do we..?"

"Kissing. That’s a good way to start, isn’t it?"

Merlin’s gaze flicks to Arthur’s lips and back up. His heart is beating wild and his fingers are close to cramping with the grip he has on the desk. 

"We don’t have to," Arthur says, leaning away slightly.

"No! I mean, yes!" Merlin blurts out, feeling a flush spreading over his cheeks. "Let’s kiss. Should I… uh…"

Arthur interrupts him by pressing his lips to Merlin’s, snaking his arms around Merlin’s waist. The new and familiar sensations are mixing together, making Merlin’s head swim. Or maybe it’s because he forgot to breathe. He follows Arthur’s lead, tilting his head slightly and letting him in, and settles his hands on Arthur’s sides. 

Arthur nips at his bottom lip teasingly, sliding his hands down to Merlin’s buttocks and squeezing.

"Come on," he whispers, pulls away and drags Merlin, dazed and overwhelmed, towards his bedroom. 

They strip down to their underwear and climb on the bed. Merlin’s the one to initiate the kiss this time, but it’s Arthur who flips him on his back and trails his lips down his neck, over his chest, sucking briefly at each one of Merlin’s nipples before moving lower. He stops above Merlin’s belly button, his fingers playing with the hem of Merlin’s briefs. His breath is warm, yet it raises goosebumps on Merlin’s belly. He looks up at Merlin for a permission to continue. 

Merlin resists the urge to cover himself when he finally lies bare beneath Arthur’s gaze. Arthur smiles at him and strips his own briefs, tossing them on the floor. 

"We’ll need stuff," Merlin says and is about to reach into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube and condoms they all got during the orientation week at uni, but Arthur shakes his head and lies down next to Merlin, propping himself on his elbow.

"We have all night," he says, caressing Merlin’s cheek and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

It’s Merlin’s dream coming true. Except it isn’t. 

Arthur might look at him as if he’s something precious, caress him and take care of him, but it’s not real. It might feel better than Merlin has ever imagined, but it’s not right. His throat constricts as a wall of emotions slams through him all at once. Longing, despair, love. 

"I can’t," he gasps out, curling on his side, eyes scrunched shut. The first tear drops onto the mattress. "I’m sorry…"

"Shh, it’s okay."

He’s covered by a blanket a moment later, Arthur tucking it around him with the same gentle care that brought on Merlin’s breakdown. It physically hurts to keep his feelings locked inside. 

"Should I go?" Arthur asks.

"I lied before," Merlin blurts out. "I can’t do casual. Not with you. I want more."

The silence is heavy, but Merlin feels lighter, his secret out in the open. He waits for Arthur to leave.

Except he doesn’t.

He slides under the blanket, spooning Merlin from behind, and whispers, "I’m already yours."

* * *

**54.**

The shadows and streaks of candlelight hide nothing as Merlin sheds layers, padding towards Arthur. Naked as the day he was born, he's beautiful and he's a mystery. Arthur watches him from the bed and feels like a man in a foreign land, bewitched and bewildered and beguiled.

Merlin came into Arthur's life as a manservant but he quickly altered his job description - becoming friend, confidant, lover, so fast that Arthur has been almost left gasping, struggling to keep up. All he knows is he loves this fey, beautiful boy beyond all reason, and that he doesn't understand it at all.

'Stop thinking so hard,' Merlin orders him, sliding onto the rumpled bedspread. 'Do something instead.' His sly smile leaves no illusions as to what sort of actions he thinks Arthur should take.

Arthur reaches out and reels him in by a handful of his hair, because he looks good enough to eat. They kiss, Merlin squirming and shivering, and Arthur slowly pulls him until they are lying together side by side and Arthur can touch all that smooth ivory skin. But Merlin won't stay where he's put.

'Be still,' Arthur tells him, and rolls up onto his elbows and knees to straddle Merlin's body. 'Or so help me -'

'You'll punish me?' Merlin suggests. His eyes sparkle. Arthur has been used to command since he could speak - he knows how to give an order, and yes, he knows how to punish as well, and yet Merlin seems not to see or feel the threat of Arthur at all.

Arthur smacks him on the scant meat of his hip, and Merlin moans full-bloodedly, rocking his hips, his hard and leaking cock, into Arthur's. 'I'll take it,' Merlin says in a rush. 'Punish me. Punish me all you want.'

His thighs are flat, open wide upon the bed and they cradle Arthur perfectly in their splay. His eyes, though, are gold-lit from the candlelight, hungry, starving for something Arthur can't quite read.

'Do you want me to hurt you?' Arthur asks, sitting back on his haunches to grope for salve, because Merlin may want pain, perhaps, but there are some ways Arthur will refuse to give it to him. He slicks his fingers.

'I want whatever you think I deserve,' Merlin breathes as Arthur pushes into him. 'I'll take it, Arthur. I'll take anything for you.' He writhes on Arthur's hand, one finger not enough, claws the sheets til he gets two, breathes saw-whet rough until Arthur sinks a third, a fourth home, and by the time Arthur kneels up to push his cock into that perfect clinging heat Merlin is a puddle of pleading and bitten lips.

'Yes, yes,' Merlin huffs into Arthur's skin as Arthur curls over him, as if he can find truth in Merlin's body and touch this time when he never has before.' 'God, Arthur. Arthur -'

It never lasts. Arthur is already at the end of his rope, wanting to sink into the velvet clinging mystery of Merlin's body and never leave. And when he comes, Merlin comes too, clenching, milking spurt after spurt of seed from Arthur as if his hole is starved for it. He comes untouched, comes like his pleasure is dependant only on Arthur's. And Arthur will own to being a selfish man but even so, that takes his breath away.

He eases out of Merlin's fucked-sloppy body and pulls him close. He knows there is something Merlin isn't telling him, something that hurts Merlin to hide, makes him crave Arthur's hand to his skin.

Arthur almost hopes he never finds out what it is.

* * *

**55.**

The sound of a small, princely fist tapping the oaken door echoed through the empty halls.

"Morgana?" Arthur called. "Do you want to practice swordplay?"

No answer.

"Come _on_ ," he huffed. "Let’s go and _play_."

Another silence.

"I never see you anymore," complained Arthur. "Come out the door! It’s like you’ve—"

"Go _away_ Arthur!"

Morgana’s voice was loud, almost shrill. Arthur took a step back. "Okay, bye…."

—

Arthur knocked on the door for thirteen years. Every time, he left trying to remember what had happened between them, and every time, Morgana thought of her brother’s crumpled body and tried to forget.

—

"I said, _enough!_ "

The nearest guests were flung back across the ballroom by a wave of black smoke, and Camelot gasped. Arthur looked shocked; his "betrothed", Gwen, who had been blushing and stammering just a moment ago, now looked almost horrorstruck.

"…Morgana?" asked Arthur.

Her secret was out. Morgana fled.

—

"Carrots."

Arthur looked at the man in the shop like he’d gone mad. "Excuse me?"

"Behind you."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, and I don’t really care to find out," the dark-haired man replied, grabbing the carrots anyway. Then he gestured outside, where it still looked like midnight rather than midday. "I have bigger things to worry about."

"No, you don’t," Arthur said. "I am the Prince of Camelot. If you give me your horse, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that."

The man just laughed, blue eyes gleaming. "Sorry, I’ll have to decline your _generous_ offer, _my lord._ "

"It wasn’t an offer."

"It’s _my_ horse—"

"I’m the _prince_ —"

"Clotpole, more like—"

And then the shopkeeper threw them out.

—

In the end, they had to make their peace. Arthur had gold, and Merlin had a horse. It was a partnership of necessity.

And of course they had to sit that closely. The saddle wasn’t big enough for two.

—

"You’re not safe here!" Morgana cried, the dark smoke swirling around her.

Arthur stepped forward. "We can fix this, Morgana!"

"No!"

"We can end the night—"

"I _can’t!_ "

A sudden burst of darkness shot out in all directions, throwing Arthur back against the wall. He crumpled, and Morgana was eight again, watching her brother fall.

"What power do you have to stop this night? To stop _me?_ " she asked even as Merlin rushed in and the shadowbeast began to form behind her. "You both should go. Now."

—

"An act of true love?" Merlin asked the troll elder.

"I think what Gaius means," Arthur offered delicately, "is that in order to cure me of Morgana’s magic, Gwen and I have to… consummate our marriage."

"Premaritally?" Merlin said, skeptical. "I think that’s just called sex."

—

"Um," said Gwen, her lips hovering above Arthur’s before she leaned away. "I don’t think I’m your true love."

He stared at her, alarmed. "Why? What happened?"

"I like you a lot," she rushed, "but I’ve spent a lot of time talking with your sister since she was captured, and I realized—"

"My _sister?_ "

"I love her? I think?"

"Oh."

There was a long pause.

"Are you sure there isn’t someone else?" she asked eventually. "Someone who would do anything for you? Risk her life—or… his life?"

Arthur looked out the window.

"Maybe…."

"Well, I’ll go find Morgana," she said. "You go find your true love."

—

"What’s happened? Why didn’t it work?" Merlin asked, his voice panicked.

"She loves my sister!" he called out as he ran closer.

" _What?_ How—"

Arthur cut him off with a harsh kiss.

When he pulled away, Merlin looked beyond startled. "You think— _Me?_ "

"Probably."

"But… _here?_ "

"Yes."

" _Now?_

" _Yes!_ I really don’t have time for this."

"…Okay, then."

"That’s a yes?"

"Yes."

Arthur expected them to kiss again, maybe, or embrace. Instead, Merlin dropped to his knees.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, alarmed.

Merlin unbuckled Arthur’s belt and then muttered dryly, "An act of true love."

When Merlin’s mouth found Arthur’s cock, everything became a jumble of _hot_ and _wet_ and _do that again _. He tangled his fingers in Merlin’s dark hair, whispered his name, gasped. It was still dark, so dark, but Merlin felt like light, and the closer Merlin brought him to the edge, the brighter Arthur felt. When he came, Arthur's darkness had gone, and the night had receded.__

__"Did Gwen find Morgana? The sun’s back," Merlin said a moment later, panting._ _

__Arthur looked out over the castle walls. "I think so," he replied. "The night’s over."_ _

__And so it was that sex saved Camelot._ _

____

* * *

**56.**

Guinevere Smith was indeed dating super-hot business man Arthur Pendragon and was not indeed attracted, at all, to his half-sister, Morgana. 

At least, that's what Gwen was repeating to herself almost daily as of late. Morgana was driving Gwen mad with her obvious flirtations. The second Arthur would walk out of rooms, Morgana would be clinging to her side, laughing with her and giving her light touches. It was now to the point that every time Gwen even saw Morgana she would get flustered. She hoped that Arthur just thought it was nervousness to be around such an important part of his life but Gwen knew it was really her identity as a straight woman going down the drain. 

This particular morning, as Gwen was beginning work in her cubicle, Morgana popped by wearing a pencil skirt and blouse that was absolutely beautiful on her. Gwen found herself holding back a dreamy sigh like a stupid schoolgirl. 

"Hello there my favorite little worker bee." She smiled, leaning over to tousle Gwen's hair. Gwen's eyes went wide and she felt the heat rise on her cheeks. 

"You know, my dear, I believe there is a desperate need for a little girl time. How about me and you hang out at my place tonight?" Morgana beamed. 

Gwen knew this was a bad idea but she didn't have anything planned tonight so she didn't have an excuse to get out of it. 

"Of course Morgana! I'll be there! Anything I can do to get closer to Arthur's family!" Gwen hoped that throwing Arthur's name into her reasoning would remind Morgana, and herself, of her relationship status.   
"Oh great! Be at my place around seven okay, love?" Morgana left Gwen's cubicle with a wink and a blowed kiss. 

"Oh. Fuck." Gwen whispered to herself, her heart fluttering. She had never been alone with Morgana for an extended period of time. There was really no telling what the "girl time" would do to her inhibitions. 

* 

Gwen sighed. She had almost hoped Arthur would have been a little selfish tonight and asked her to stay in but, when she told him of Morgana's plan, he was ecstatic that they were "bonding." 

So here she was at Morgana's door with butterflies in her stomach. She rang the doorbell and was surprised when Morgana opened the door almost instantly. 

"Hello there! Come in!" She offered a glass of wine to Gwen and moved towards the living room. 

"Thank you for inviting me over Morgana." Gwen smiled as she accepted the glass and sat down on the other side of the couch than where Morgana was sitting. 

The night moved on to idle chatter and slowly, as the wine supply depleted, Gwen had moved closer to Morgana. She must have noticed at the same time Gwen did because the chatter got quiet and Morgana laid a hand on Gwen's thigh. 

"Guinevere, I must admit that I had some ulterior motives for getting you here," Morgana said slowly, putting her empty glass down. 

"You see, I know you must have noticed the way I look at you and," she blushed, "I've, um, seen the way you look at me." 

Gwen's eyes widened and she tried to think of something, anything, to get herself out of this situation but she halted when Morgana began sliding her hand up her thigh. 

"Gwen, please tell me you want this too." Gwen let out a tiny gasp. 

Of course she wanted this too. Gwen had had some sort of unrelenting attraction to Morgana from day one but this would be _cheating_. Gwen would be cheating on _Arthur_. 

"I-I'm sorry Morgana but I can't...he's your brother...oh gosh I wish I could," Gwen stammered out but now that Morgana's flirtation's had been confirmed it only made Gwen want her more. 

"Then follow your heart and damn the consequences. If you want me, you can have me." She slowly leaned over into Gwen's space and kissed her lips. 

"Just tell me to stop and I will, Gwen," Morgana whispered, uncertainly pulling back from the kiss. Gwen kissed the uncertainty off of Morgana's face. 

Morgana smiled and pushed Gwen down onto the couch, climbing on top of her, kissing her eyes, nose, and mouth. Gwen giggled and wrapped her legs around Morgana's hips, pulling her down so they would have no space left between them. 

Morgana reached to the top of Gwen's thigh, under her skirt, and began slowly moving to rub on her panties. Gwen blushed and arched her back slightly. Her body wanted this, she wanted this, but her mind would not be quiet with the guilt and the wrongness of it all. She would have to tell Arthur. He could, and probably _would_ , have her fired. 

She couldn't turn the rambling of her mind off but, when Morgana's fingers made it passed her panties, Gwen made the executive decision to deal with the consequences in the morning.

* * *

**57.**

Arthur loosens his tie, places his jacket and shirt carefully on the back of a chair, takes off his watch, and slips out of his shoes. Merlin’s watching him in silence, sitting cross-legged on the king-sized bed of this nondescript, beige hotel room. His orange rucksack is leaning against the wall. Condoms and lube are fanned across the bedside table. They don’t have much time today—only an hour or so before Arthur has to be back home.

Arthur extracts his phone from his trousers and places it on the desk; he leaves it on, just in case Gwen might call. Then he climbs on the bed and curls his hand around Merlin’s neck, drawing him in. They kiss once, twice, before Arthur settles his forehead against Merlin’s.

"I missed you," he says.

"Missed you, too."

Merlin lies back on the bed, pulling Arthur over him. Arthur tugs on Merlin’s T-shirt until they’re skin to skin from the waist up, while their cocks rub against each other through the fabric of their trousers.

Arthur loves the anticipation best—these moments just before they fuck, when they’re together and he can feel Merlin’s chest rising and falling beneath him in ragged breaths. When there’s still so much to look forward to.

He opens Merlin’s jeans, one button after another, and slides his hand inside Merlin’s briefs, relishing the silky-smooth skin of Merlin’s cock. He lets his fingers dive deeper and feels a thrill run down his spine when Merlin parts his legs for him with a sweet whimper. He’s happy to find Merlin’s hole still dry and clenched tight. Merlin could have prepared himself beforehand, but it’s so much better like this, when Arthur can drive Merlin crazy with lubed fingers or the flat of his tongue pressed to Merlin’s furl, until Merlin gives in and begs, "Just fuck me now. Fuck me, please."

The rest of their clothes come off in a hurry and they’re hugging, Merlin murmuring, "I wish, I wish…" And Arthur knows what Merlin wants because he wants it too. But it’s impossible because Arthur has Gwen, and the baby, and a position to uphold. And truth be told, he loves his life just as much as he loves Merlin. So for now, Merlin is Arthur’s dirty secret on Tuesdays, sometimes Fridays.

They cherish it, Arthur grinding against Merlin’s body and Merlin leaning back, his arms outstretched so Arthur can run his palms up and down Merlin’s sides and bury his fingers in the intimate softness of Merlin’s armpits.

Arthur will have flashbacks of it later. When he’s putting his son to bed, or placing clean dishes in the cupboard, or running a meeting at work, he’ll have flashbacks of Merlin’s body arched beneath his, his neck exposed, his thick cock swinging heavily to the rhythm of Arthur’s thrusts. He’ll remember pale slivers of skin that have not been properly shaved, and Merlin shifting so Arthur can push deeper until he’s locked inside Merlin’s tight heat.

Those sudden memories, unwelcome and fierce, leave Arthur swallowing on the thick saliva that pools in his mouth, cheeks heated like after serious exertion. He rubs his hand against his chest. "You all right, mate?" his co-workers ask. And he nods and clears his throat. "Yes, sorry, carry on," he says.

For the goodbye he fucks Merlin hard with Merlin on all fours on the bed, Arthur standing behind him, thrusting as deeply as he can. When he pulls out he leaves a long trail of come slowly trickling down Merlin’s thighs where the condom slipped off. Merlin lies there panting, too done in to climb off the bed properly.

Arthur washes himself quickly in the shower; he was supposed to go to the gym this afternoon, so it won’t be suspicious if his hair’s still damp. He emerges to find Merlin naked on the bed, still flushed from earlier, leaning against the headboard with his legs bent loosely. He’s tapping on his phone, avoiding Arthur's gaze while Arthur gets dressed.

Arthur leans down and kisses Merlin on the cheek. "I'll see you Tuesday?" It's a question, although they both know Merlin will agree. And yes, Arthur should end it. He should be fair to Merlin, to Gwen, to himself… but he can't—he just can't imagine his life without Merlin’s blue eyes and throaty laugh, or this feeling when they’re joined together, Merlin gasping out "Arthur" when he comes.

"Tuesday," Merlin says, nodding. And if his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, Arthur pretends not to notice.

* * *

**58.**

"I can’t help but wonder," Arthur says in-between kisses on Mordred’s cock as if they’ve been having a discussion all this time, "if Merlin’s your master, what am I?"

Merlin raises his eyebrows. For a second he doubts that Mordred even has an answer, but then the boy bites his lip and looks away as if he’s been fearing this question. Merlin and Arthur exchange a glance and perk up, causing Mordred to fidget and make an even greater effort to avoid their gazes.

"Mordred?" Merlin says and caresses the cheek that’s turned to him. Mordred shivers and moans and Merlin turns to Arthur to see his forearm moving, his fingers still fucking Mordred. For a moment, Merlin wonders if he should tell him to stop, but then Mordred moans again and starts rocking on Arthur’s hand. Arthur shrugs and nods towards the boy. "Mordred."

Mordred just growls and turns to Merlin. He pulls him down and Merlin tilts his head to the side as their lips meet and Mordred moans in his mouth, digs his fingers in Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin just moans in reply and lets his tongue caress Mordred’s bottom lip. They break apart when Mordred lets out a gasp and jerks away from Merlin, pumps his hips up a couple of times. The two of them look at Arthur, who’s wearing an entirely too unconvincing expression of innocence.

"Waiting for an answer here," he says. Mordred whines and makes an attempt to hide his face from Arthur by burying it in Merlin’s neck.

"It’s okay," he shushes Mordred and rubs his side in what he hopes is a comforting manner. He’s curious, though. What on earth could the boy find more embarrassing than accidentally calling his boyfriend (one of his boyfriends?) ‘master’, as he’d done to Merlin earlier? "You can tell us, you know you can."

Mordred sighs and gently pushes him away to meet Arthur’s gaze. "Merlin’s my master. And you’re my…"

"Yes?" Arthur prompts.

"You’re my Daddy," Mordred breathes, almost choking on the word.

Merlin gasps. He looks at Arthur, whose hand has finally stopped moving, fingers buried inside of Mordred. The three of them are very still for a minute before Mordred gulps audibly and tries to disentangle himself from the other two bodies. He’s stopped by Arthur’s fingers pulling out and thrusting back in. 

"Yeah?" Arthur says, voice hoarse. He fucks his fingers into Mordred harder and Mordred gasps, quivers. "Call me it." 

Mordred whines.

"Say it," Arthur demands. 

Mordred gasps. "Daddy," he moans and it’s quite possibly the most arousing thing Merlin has ever witnessed. He groans and tries to tell Mordred as much, but ends up too distracted by Arthur’s stunned expression. He knows that fire in Arthur’s eyes too well, even if he hasn’t seen it in a while. It’s always alight when they discover something... or someone new. Merlin suppresses a shiver and finally looks down at Mordred again. 

"Come on, baby," he says, helping Mordred rise and settle on his hands and knees. Arthur, having removed his fingers from inside Mordred, is wildly looking around. Merlin takes a condom from the nightstand and throws it in his direction. Arthur just nods, doesn’t even look at him.

As he hears the package tear, the boy pushes back, impatient; he bites his lip as he looks up at Merlin. 

"Just a moment," Merlin assures him and sure enough, Arthur’s already coating his cock in lube. He drops the bottle to the side and shuffles on his knees, spreads Mordred’s legs to get closer.

Mordred moans and buries his face in Merlin’s middle when Arthur pushes inside of him. He kisses and sucks at Merlin’s skin and Merlin rises to his knees, offers his cock instead. Mordred moans gratefully, swallows it in, but Merlin frowns as he sees Arthur’s slowed his movements down, careful not to have the boy choke on Merlin’s cock.

Merlin pulls away and Mordred whines, chases his cock with his lips. Merlin shushes him and makes him look up with two fingers beneath Mordred’s chin.

"You want Daddy to fuck you harder?" He asks. Mordred nods as both him and Arthur moan. Merlin smiles at them and pushes Mordred’s soft curls out of his eyes. "Then fuck," he tells Arthur.

Minutes later, as Mordred collapses, whimpers for his Daddy to let him come, Merlin decides that - should the boy be willing - Arthur and him would strip him of the very last of his secrets.

* * *

**59.**

It had been the most daring thing Merlin had ever done. Technically, it wasn’t even his fault. Will was completely the one to blame. After all, what was the point of dragging Merlin along to the pool when he couldn’t swim a single stroke, no matter how hot the day was.

In hindsight, the heat probably had a lot to do with the decision Merlin had made after staring at the extremely fit lifeguard for far too long.

His exact words had been, "Will. I’m still a virgin, and I can’t take it anymore."

He had no idea if Will even heard him, because with that declaration, he hauled himself out of the pool, marched over to the diving board, and jumped right into the deep end.

Merlin hadn’t dared breathe again until the sounds of the world came rushing back to his ears and even then he continued to be a dead weight, letting nothing rouse him, not even Will’s panicked screams of, " _Merlin, you stupid cow, you have your whole life – no,_ you _calm down! I am calm!_ "

And then, it finally happened. Rough, thick fingers pinched his nose shut and a pair of lips sealed over his. Without further ado, Merlin flailed to life, wrapping his arms around muscular shoulders and clinging for dear life as he opened his mouth wide and presented his tongue up for tango.

The tango became more of a tongue trying to shove his tongue back into his own mouth, but it still totally counted up until the lifeguard had enough sense to rear back and start yelling at him.

Merlin had no idea what the lifeguard had said. He had been too busy beaming happily over the fact that he was the same one Merlin had been staring at all day.

The same one who was now lecturing Merlin from behind the pool maintenance shed. His name, it turned out, was Arthur.

"Look, all I’m saying is you can’t go lying about your ability to swim just to get my attention. At our age, you should be more responsible in your – what are you doing?"

Merlin looked up from his kneeled position, hands on Arthur’s thighs. "Can I please give you a blowjob?"

Arthur’s jaw dropped, and for a moment it seemed like his brain had short-circuited. Then he snapped to his senses.

"No. If you give head anything like you kiss, absolutely not." He hauled Merlin to his feet.

"It was my first time with tongue!" Merlin argued. 

"Your first—? Jesus." Arthur shook his head. "Are you younger than you look?"

"I’m seventeen!" _And pathetic_. Merlin gritted his teeth against the silent addition.

"Alright." A muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitched, and he seemed to reach a decision. "If I give you some pointers, do you promise to never do that again?"

Merlin nodded eagerly and did his best not to grin as Arthur leaned forward and cupped his face.

There was absolutely nothing about this kiss that didn’t turn Merlin on. 

The soft press of lips. The tongue gently teasing him with licks until he granted it access. The firm guidance on how to move sensually in a way that connected Merlin’s tongue directly to his dick. 

Merlin’s knees were weakening at an alarming rate, and he let out a desperate moan, unsure of what to do. 

Luckily, Arthur’s experience went beyond being an expert swimmer and kisser, and in a shift of bodies and hips, Merlin found himself pinned to the wall with Arthur’s leg between his.

"Oh God— Sorry." Hands clinging to Arthur’s waist, Merlin was unable to stop himself from grinding down.

"No, no, that’s perfect," Arthur soothed, licking a trail up from Merlin’s jaw to his ear. "You need to get it out of your system." 

And with that, Merlin felt the wet pressure of Arthur’s tongue probing into his ear and all sense of coherency left him.

All he could focus on was the mind-numbing pleasure between his legs, and the way every bit of pressure from the tongue in his ear to the kneading of his backside only fueled it along but was never enough. His rutting was completely animalistic and shameless, and distantly, he was aware of Arthur hoisting his leg up higher, pinning him harder, giving him less room to move, and yet still pressing him in all the right places until ecstasy had Merlin flying apart at the seams.

His body jerked and twitched, unused to so much touch on so many different spots during orgasm, but rather than draw back, Merlin pushed into all of them, groaning as they helped milk him dry.

For a long time, neither of them moved, and Merlin figured it was because Arthur could still feel his spent cock twitching valiantly against his thigh from time to time.

Chest heaving and fingertips feeling slightly numb, Merlin reached a decision.

"Please be my sex tutor," he mumbled out, embarrassed at his unexpected lack of proper coherency.

He grinned dopily as Arthur threw his head back and laughed.

"I’ll think about it," was the promise.

* * *

**60.**

Merlin yelped in surprise when he was pulled into a dark alcove and promptly dropped the basket of Arthur's laundry he was carrying. "What's going on?" he questioned the dark figure. 

"I've decided to keep you," Morgana responded. 

"Princess, I'm Arthur's manservant," Merlin replied. "I don't think it's negotiable." 

"You can keep being Arthur's manservant, Merlin. I have my own maidservants, after all. No, I'm keeping you for something else," Morgana said and then Morgana pushed him against the back wall of the small alcove. 

Morgana admired his restraint. He wasn't allowed to touch her and he kept his hands to himself as best he could while Morgana crowded against him. 

"Morgana, what are you doing?" Merlin questioned. 

"Shut up and enjoy it, Merlin." Morgana responded and then her lips were on Merlin's, pressing softly at first and then more firmly as Merlin didn't respond. 

"It's okay, Merlin. I can keep a secret," Morgana whispered in his ear. "No one has to know," Morgana said as she tugged on Merlin's hand and placed it against her firm breast. 

Merlin had no time to respond before Morgana's lips were on him again, her tongue running along between Merlin's lips and seeking entrance. Morgana smiled when Merlin titled his head down slightly and parted his lips. She pushed her tongue against Merlin's quickly and drew away, hoping Merlin would get the hint and kiss her back. She sighed in disappointment when he didn't.

"You're shaking like a rabbit, Merlin. I'm not going to bite you. No, that's a lie. I'm probably going to bite you," Morgana said and she kissed Merlin's neck and then bit it slightly. "You'll like it, though," Morgana replied. 

Morgana felt Merlin swallow nervously, the vibrations of his vocal cords tickling her lips as he spoke and tentatively placed his hands on her hips. 

"What do you want, princess?" he asked. Morgana smirked. 

"Get on your knees, Merlin." She replied. 

Merlin did as he was told and looked up at Morgana. Morgana felt a rush go through her at the outline of Merlin on his knees before her. She hiked up her dress until she revealed the soft flesh of her cunt and spread her legs. She used her free hand to bring Merlin's head closer. 

"Lick me, Merlin," she demanded. Morgana gasped as Merlin's hot tongue hesitantly licked at her lips. "Part my lips with your fingers, Merlin. It wouldn't do to get caught here," Morgana reminded. 

"Oh god," Merlin cursed but he did as he was told and used his fingers to part Morgana's lips and leaned in to lick between them. 

"Ah!" Morgana exclaimed when Merlin's tongue trailed over her clit. "Right there, Merlin. Focus your attentions there," she begged. Merlin was a fast learner and Morgana was extremely grateful for this fact as Merlin's tongue relentlessly ran over her clit. 

"Fuck, Merlin. Feel how wet I am for you," she grabbed Merlin's wrist and brought his hand down to her hole. She pressed his fingers against it slightly, letting Merlin feel the slickness there and her hips bucked involuntarily against his hand. 

"Fuck me with one of your fingers, Merlin," she demanded. Merlin made to with draw his face and Morgana sighed in disapproval. "No, Merlin. Keep your mouth where it is while you do it," she explained. 

Merlin pursed his lips against Morgana's clit and slid one of his fingers inside her. 

"Yeah, Merlin. Slide it in and out while you lick me," she requested, happy when Merlin complied. Merlin unexpectedly started sucking on Morgana's clit and she had to let go of her dress to muffle the scream of orgasm with her hand.

Morgana placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder for support, her knees still weak from the after shocks as Merlin kept licking and fucking her through it.

"That's enough, Merlin," she said softly. "Get up," she commanded.

Morgana kissed him again and pressed her hand against Merlin's hard cock but didn't move it.

"Please," Merlin begged and Morgana thought she could get used to hearing Merlin beg. She rubbed at him through his pants until Merlin was gasping. She kissed his breath away and felt his cock jerk. Morgana smirked when it only took a few minutes. They were going to have to work on his stamina.

"Yes, I'm definitely keeping you," Morgana said. She righted her dress and walked out of the alcove. "Better get cleaned up, Merlin. Wouldn't want you to walk around with that stain all day."

* * *

**61.**

The Emery twins were stretching Arthur's sanity to breaking point. He glared at them across the ballroom, ignoring the chatter that surrounded him.

They stood close together, they always did, and leaned in, exchanging veiled smiles. They rarely spoke, even to each other, but often they held each other's gaze for unusually long periods, long enough to make Arthur squirm with discomfort and have to look away. _'Self sufficient'_ , people called them, _'Shy'_ even. And _'Poor dears, what a terrible tragedy, at least they still have each other?'_

If it was uncomfortable for Arthur watching them stare into their twin's eyes that was nothing compared to having them turn those eyes on him. They were both blue, hers pale and icy, his a rich lapis, and when they looked at him Arthur felt scrutinised, dissected and laid bare.

Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur now. Arthur knew they were aware of his obsession, whenever they were near he couldn't take his eyes off them. Morgana looked at him with disdain and a slight curl of her red lip. Merlin looked at him with curiosity and amusement though. He raised his champagne flute and nodded to Arthur, cocking his head to the side. Arthur was blushing furiously as he grabbed a glass from a passing tray and hurried to speak to an old family acquaintance.

* * *

Arthur was crouching in the shrubbery when Merlin stepped out of his drawing room and onto the terrace to vape. He sucked in deeply and blew out a cloud of steam, turning directly to where Arthur hid.

"It's alright," he spoke quietly but his deep voice carried, "You may as well come out."

For a moment Arthur froze but eventually he wobbled out, dusting off his trousers, and ascended the low steps to where Merlin stood, haloed by the light from the house. He wore the remains of his dinner suit, the jacket discarded but his black tie still hanging loosely. Morgana came out to join him in just a cream silk slip which buckled over her tight nipples and skimmed her thighs, and slid a slender arm around her brother's waist.

"So," she said, voice clear and sharp, "We have a wager going, Merlin thinks you're stalking us 'cause you fancy one, or both, of us, I think you're looking to make a name for yourself on the gossip webs. Which is it?"

Arthur choked and spluttered a bit. "I'm not... Neither... I'm not _stalking_ either of... And I don't work for the..." He trailed off, he had been caught skulking in the bushes, it didn't look good.

"Sex or secrets," Merlin was smirking, and licked his full lips deliberately. "Everybody's after one or the other."

Arthur felt his trousers tighten and knew there was no point now in playing coy. He stepped forward til he could smell the menthol on Merlin's breath. He looked between them, silently asking them both for permission, and said with as much bravado as he could muster "Whatever you're offering, I find you breathtaking." 

The twins exchanged a long look, Merlin quirked his eyebrow and Morgana shrugged and rolled her eyes, then she lifted herself up on her tiptoes and sucked in Merlin's lower lip, dragging it through her teeth. He bent to kiss her back and she wrapped her spare hand around Arthur's neck, pulling him in and transferring her lips to his, when she had tasted him thoroughly she guided his head towards Merlin, and Arthur found himself drawn in and drowning in velvet lips and skin.

They passed him back and forth as they led him into the house and up to their shared bedroom, which was airy and draped with silks. Merlin took him from behind and Morgana took him from the front and they kissed each other over his shoulder as they ground him to pulp between the steady rhythm of their hips.

* * *

**62.**

The modern age, Arthur learns, is strange, is cold. Colder than the winters he remembered, and the people are colder still. They wake him, they put weapons in his hands, and lead him out to fight creatures he has never seen before, then they put him back to sleep, and wake him again.

There are never familiar faces when he wakes, save one. _You should call me Merlin,_ said the man who does not meet his eyes, the first time they met. 

_Time passes,_ said Merlin when he asked why there is never anyone he knows. Merlin's shoulders are always bowed as though with great age. He does not ask again.

Waking is always painful. He gasps and shakes in bed as his sluggishly moving blood stabs pins and needles through his flash as it creeps towards his limbs, struggles to win control back from the cold, fails to sit up.

 _Let me help you,_ Merlin says, and puts Arthur's icy feet between his warm thighs, takes Arthur's icy hands in his warm hands, and presses burning lips to Arthur's palms. Arthur stares in confusion as he softly sucks heat back into Arthur's hands, making his blood rush through him and suffuse his flesh in ways it has not in almost longer than he can remember.

A muscle spasms in his right leg: pinned between Merlin's, it makes him push his leg deeper in the warm space there. Merlin sighs and rocks forward, presses into him, branding a hard length against his calves. Arthur is suddenly very aware of his own erection tenting his loose cotton sleep-trousers obviously, of how close their hands, and Merlin's soft, hot mouth, is to it. He feels embarrassment heat his face and looks around quickly.

There is no one else. He's not in the usual _hospital_ room they let him awaken in. There are no white-coated doctors or cold-faced nurses watching.

They are in what looks like a child's room, with faded, peeling wallpaper depicting dragons, and castles. The bedclothes are yellowed and tattered, the windows cracked. There are toys scattered across the floor.

"How?" he asks, and struggles to find enough spit to wet his mouth. "Where are we? What..."

 _I couldn't let them do it again._ Merlin says, and his lashes are wet as he bends over Arthur's hands, mouthing his now too-warm flesh over and over again. _I was wrong. I let it go on for too long, for vengeance. Forgive me._

"Merlin," he says, and shivers as Merlin lowers Arthur's hands to rest on the bed, then reaches to pull open Arthur's trousers and draw them own to reveal the achingly erect cock inside.

 _Let me do this for you,_ Merlin says, strong hands rubbing sensation into Arthur's thighs, then Arthur's knees spread of their own volition.

Frustratingly, Merlin does not immediately go where his need is greatest. He clutches Arthur's hips tight enough to hurt, holding him still, takes his time aimlessly kissing Arthur's thighs, letting his cheeks and insanely tickling hair brush uselessly over his straining cock. Arthur grips the ancient sheets to keep from tearing Merlin's hair out.

When he finally condescends to take Arthur's cock in his mouth, Arthur sobs from the shock of it and finds his hands tangled in Merlin's hair, surprisingly gentle. Merlin sucks at him so desperately he feels the threat of teeth several times, but he doesn't care, it's too much he has to stop now and he wants it to go on forever, this strange-familiar sensation he has missed so much, and he is still sobbing uncontrollably when he comes.

"Merlin," Arthur gasps, trying to pull him up so he can taste himself in Merlin's mouth, and Merlin coughs and shakes his head, twisting away from Arthur's hands.

_Merlin is gone, has been gone for over two hundred years. They got him, took him apart._

Arthur tries to reach for him again. "I know you. Whatever they did to you, I don't care. I remember you." Merlin shrinks back from him.

Merlin shakes his head again; his entire body shakes with shame. _They salvaged a part and grew me from his cells. When Arthur makes to speak, he puts a hand over Arthur's mouth. _I have his body, his magic. But I remember,_ he looks into Arthur's eyes for the first time, _I remember killing you.__

__

* * *

**63.**

She's known about Morgana since she was a child. When Morgause was in so-called care, she would catch glimpses of supermarket newspapers, the Royal Family smiling urbanely. The little girl, always just a bit too tall, too dark to fit. Everyone knew the story, how Uther's best friend had died, how he'd taken in the daughter. How kind, how selfless.

Morgause burnt the clippings she'd collected in a rage the day they said she was "unable to be placed."

* 

For a while, she hated her own name. People always assume it's a knock-off, misspelled, common as dirt.

*

Still she couldn't help watching Morgana grow up, on the telly, in magazines and interviews. She's 15, graceful replacing gangly. Her braces come off and her smile is so bright it lights up the screen. Then 16, running down some poor public school girl on the pitch. 17, playing the princess, driving around with her little boyfriends, occasionally turning up for photo shoots with the prince, the ice palpable between them.

*

Morgause has always been a keen observer of human behavior; security work suits her. She can fade into the background, while she's given access to the highest echelons of society. Until someone, somewhere, decides to give her access to her sister.

Morgana is warmer and more human than Morgause could have imagined. She takes Morgause's hand and asks if they've met before, and it feels like electricity runs up her arm. She can see the shock reflected in Morgana's eyes.

Turning on the Pendragon charm, she thinks, but she's enchanted anyway.

*

Morgana starts to follow her around. The restless yearning on her face makes Morgause's heart sing. 

"You know, I can't do my job if you're always tagging along," she says, half kidding. She doesn't want Morgana to stop.

Morgana moves closer, brushes her bare arm against Morgause's breast. Hair swings in front of her eyes.

"I just want to be near you. You fascinate me," she says, and Morgause feels like every inch of her skin is magnetised to Morgana's.

"Later," she says, voice husky. "I'll sneak you out."

*

That's how they wind up in a bar, Morgause pressing Morgana against the wall, her thigh insinuating itself to rock against Morgana's center, wet already through the thin material of her dress.

Her hair comes out of its bun as Morgana pulls her close to kiss open-mouthed and sloppy. She tastes like something Morgause needs, like belonging.

She kneads Morgana's arse, pressing her fingers up into the softness of her cunt, and Morgana gasps, throwing her head back. She gets two fingers in and Morgana opens up to her, fucking herself on Morgause's hand and riding her thigh as she screams.

After Morgana is hazy and Morgause is still throbbing, but she curls her arm around the younger woman, buys her a glass of water and kisses her throat until Morgana grins and bats her away.

* 

In her bed, Morgana licks her open, sucking on her clit, and Morgause lets her hands circle Morgana's neck loosely, urging her on. When they switch to fucking, Morgana clenching around the steel strap-on she chose, Morgana pulls her hands back to her throat, whimpering "please."

Morgause is afraid of what Morgana will let her do, but she can't deny that she wants to see Morgana's eyes roll up, wants to feel her choke and gasp. She's only fantasised about that a thousand times. Morgana's face goes red, then white as she forces her legs open and keeps fucking her through it. Morgause comes just from the pressure against her clit and Morgana struggling under her.

*

"I feel like I know you, like I've always known you," Morgana says after, laying her head on Morgause's breast and Morgause thinks that trust is going to kill her.

* * *

**64.**

It’s different this time.

When Arthur enters his chambers, he grabs Merlin by the neckerchief and shoves him towards the bed. Merlin doesn’t quite fall, but it’s close. He should ask what’s wrong, what has happened, but Arthur looks like he’s on the verge of exploding, so Merlin keeps quiet and waits.

Instead of getting an explanation, Arthur roughly pulls him into a kiss. It’s desperate, hard, almost violent. It’s like Merlin’s the last water source on Earth and Arthur’s dying of thirst. Maybe he is, in a way.

When they break apart, Merlin squirms a bit. Arthur doesn’t let go of him, and the grip’s starting to hurt. There’s a short pause; Arthur just closes his eyes and breathes in. When he speaks, it’s with a surprising softness to his voice.

"Bed, please."

"You don’t ever say pl–"

But Arthur kisses him again, and Merlin soon forgets what they’re talking about and why he thought talking was a good idea anyway. They end up on the bed, somehow – Arthur on top, leaning over Merlin, slowly stripping him of his shirt and then, in a quite impressive display of acrobatics, managing to get both their breeches off without rising from the bed. Merlin’s already hard. It doesn’t take much, because it’s Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur mumbles into his neck and kisses him like it’s the last time he’ll ever be allowed to do so. Like Merlin would – could – ever deny him.

Grabbing the blond hair, Merlin tries to give as good as he gets, but Arthur doesn’t let him. Instead, he grinds their erections together, causing Merlin to let go and grab the rumpled covers for something better to hold onto. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the attention, Merlin moans and swears incoherently when Arthur breathes hotly into Merlin’s neck and uses his weight to keep him from wriggling out from under him.

The touching, kissing, licking goes on and on, and Merlin doesn’t know when the oil comes out, only when Arthur’s fingers breach him. He grinds down onto them, wants more, because he can be greedy too. Then there’s another finger and Merlin’s not sure if it’s him or Arthur that makes the whining sound. It might be him.

Then they fuck, and that is different, too. It’s too much and not enough, because Arthur doesn’t look at him. Instead, he looks upwards and seems to try to blink away the sweat threatening to run into his eyes. He runs his hand over Merlin’s right ankle where it’s resting on Arthur’s shoulder to allow him better access. He uses his hips to make Merlin tremble and whine and groan his name. But he still doesn’t look.

Arthur jerks Merlin off, runs his calloused hand along the shaft, flicks the wrist in the way Merlin loves, and it soon turns erratic and rough and absolutely wonderful. When Merlin comes, Arthur’s lips are right there, on his, swallowing his words and cries, like a starving man would gorge on a piece of bread.

When Arthur comes, he shudders and is still. He slides out, but doesn’t curl up next to Merlin, doesn’t hold him like he always does afterwards. Instead, he shuffles away, and Merlin’s afraid he’s about to leave his own chambers until Arthur stops himself midway through the movement and returns to sit naked on the edge of the bed with his back to Merlin. It’s slick with sweat, and Merlin lets his fingers play with the wetness for a second before settling into a caress.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

Arthur hunches his shoulders and hides his face in his hands like a chastised child. Merlin sits up and wraps his arms around him. They sit like that for a long while, Arthur’s hand slowly running over the protective arm Merlin has placed over his chest, as to calm him.

"I’m..." he begins.

Merlin kisses his shoulder, silently urging him on. A small shiver runs through Arthur’s body.

"I’m marrying Gwen. In two days time. This was... this was the last time. I’m supposed to be faithful to her now."

It’s like being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. Slowly, Merlin lets go and sits back on his heels. It’s like his entire body has been emptied. He’s not angry, not sad. Just hollow.

Not until Arthur’s grabs his wrist and forces him to meet his eyes does Merlin realise that he's crying, too.

* * *

**65.**

Days they’d hidden, Arthur’s wounds tended by the beguiling man who’d found him on the battlefield.

_He’d appeared from nowhere, uniform torn and bloodied, moving with a grace suggesting him far more dangerous than he looked. As he’d approached, insignias on his tunic became apparent; he was one of Arthur’s men, but not one he recognised._

The war seemed endless; General Pendragon blamed all troubles on magic, centuries of peace crumbled leaving guns and magic tearing the air.

_"Your hand," the soldier ordered, grunting as he hefted Arthur over his shoulder. They’d trekked all night, Merlin introducing himself in whispers as he evaded the enemies in the trees before they’d reached this remote cabin._

_After Arthur’s wounds improved, unexpectedly fast, the spats started: Merlin calling Arthur an idiot for being where he was alone, Arthur bristling at being rebuked. When Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders to shake sense into him, he found himself drawn to those plump lips and insolent tongue instead.  
Arthur kissed like the war had followed them inside, biting at Merlin’s mouth, grunting victoriously when Merlin opened to him, tongue thrusting between those lips to stroke and tease at Merlin’s own, rough hands grabbing at jutting hips. In response, Merlin pressed closer, curling possessively around Arthur, slow rolls of his hips sparking sweet friction, as he mouthed under Arthur’s jaw where his scent was stronger than the pall of destruction that hung around them. Clothes were torn at as though their existence were a personal affront, stumbling steps collapsing them to the cot._

There were whispers of a great warlock, a man of such power that he was magic itself, destined to return peace to Albion.

**Emrys.**

_Arthur rocked back, grinding desperately against Merlin’s hand, demanding more. It’d been so long since Arthur could be demanding, be selfish and just_ take _until sated, left with the ache of his hole, the burn of his thighs and fresh sweat._

_"Slowly," chuckled Merlin," we’ve time." But he acquiesced, easing another finger inside tight heat._

_"None of – unfh- us have time." Arthur countered. "Get on with it." His whine when Merlin withdrew belied his command, as did his cry when three fingers slid back in to tease his prostate._

_"I want to spread you out, take my time, time this war is stealing from us," Merlin crooned. "Stay in you all day, have you ride me so you feel it for days. You want that?"_

_Arthur was too gone to be ashamed of his whimpered, "yes."_

Uther believed it a fairy-tale, but not Arthur: he’d set out, alone, seeking the truth.

_"When you couldn’t walk on your knees anymore, I'd roll you over, spread these gorgeous thighs,"  
Merlin scratched his nails from knee to hip, as he knelt between Arthur’s legs, "slide into you," Merlin withdrew his fingers completely, sighing in pleasure at the feel of Arthur yielding to his cock as he sank in deep, soaking up the blonde’s gibbering pleas for more. _

_"Nff- wanted you- for so long…all this time, missed you Merlin."_

_Merlin’s smiled widely as he took Arthur’s mouth, Arthur tasting his joy at the confusing garble he’d uttered._

The uniform he was so proud of lay crumpled on the floor, tangled in Merlin’s when Arthur reached for his shirt. A failed attempt to pull it on revealed it was Merlin’s, but as Arthur moved to discard it, the insignia caught his eye; sloppily stitched with haste, not the precision of the factories.

Arthur’s blood ran to ice as he noted Merlin’s ribbon bars were out of order, the buttons wrong... Unsure what he was searching for and desperate not to find it, Arthur plucked up Merlin’s uniform, checking each pocket until he found a notebook.

Arthur’s hands trembled as he leafed through pages of unintelligible, yet all too familiar words, pages of spells blurred before him. The last page held sketches of dragons, runes scrawled beneath. Only one being had enough magic to bring back dragons. The grimoire fell from limp fingers with a thump, Arthur’s watery gaze drifting up the cot to find Merlin’s guileless stare.

"It’s you." The words rend his throat as they tore into the gulf between them.

To his credit, Merlin didn’t bluster through an excuse.

"You’re Emrys."

"I am. I was born of magic." Merlin’s voice was peaceful where Arthur’s was breathless.   
"We’re going to use magic to end this war." The blanket fell away as Merlin sat up, naked and unashamed, Arthur’s traitorous body swaying towards the seductive heat of the warlock’s body. 

"It’s our destiny."

* * *

**66.**

After years of looking, Merlin has his search method down to a science. Scanning through thumbnails, he’s trained his eyes to pause for only the right combination of golden hair and lightly-tanned skin. When he finds it, he clicks to see more. First one’s too short, then one’s too slim, one has an ugly dick—that won’t work for Merlin’s purposes, it _needs > to be beautiful, just like Arthur._

_Finally he finds one—golden blond, broad-shouldered, gorgeous cock--and settles back in his chair, legs spread in anticipation. Reaching for lube, he presses play, knowing better than to look _too_ closely at the face on the screen. Usually he turns the volume down as well; he’s yet to find the right look with the right voice. Those plummy, prattish tones are hard to duplicate._

_He’d rather create the voice in his head anyway. Then it will say what _he_ wants, whispering the filthy things he longs to hear in just the right timber, the _right_ accent._

_Tonight’s match is good. The fuzzed profile is refined, the body _exactly_ what Merlin’s looking for. He just hopes they don’t do many close-ups of the faces. Forced to close his eyes, he’ll miss too much action._

_During the fully-clothed intro bullshit, Merlin glances at the other bloke. Brown hair--lighter than his, but close enough—and skinny, much slimmer than his companion. That was _good_. It helped the fantasy when both men conformed to the images in Merlin’s head. _

_Tonight, his need is more urgent than usual. His workday had been hell, pressed into close quarters with his gorgeous, tragically heterosexual boss, Arthur Pendragon. Confined side-by-side inside the tiny field office, touches went astray, and their bodies had brushed together repeatedly._

_A moan from the speakers jolts his eyes open. Onscreen, "Arthur" has his head thrown back, body rattling with a deep groan. Normally this would be when he’d turn the volume off, but there’s something so right about that groan that he leaves it on. The brunette’s head is bent; he’s got "Arthur’s" cock in his mouth, sucking with lazy, rhythmic strokes._

_Merlin’s fingers tighten around his own flesh, roughening the drag of his fist while he watches "Arthur’s" dick disappear and slowly reappear in long intervals._

__It’s good_. His gasps and moans are nothing like a porn-star’s. The sounds are rough, raw, and a bit ugly, sending Merlin’s arousal higher with every twisted note._

_Sliding his hand forward, he thumbs his foreskin, his eyes drifting half-closed to blur the image onscreen as "Arthur" lifts his head and the camera pans in to capture the sucked-stupid look on his face. Ignoring the eyes, Merlin lets his deliberately blurred gaze settle on the mouth, slack with pleasure, the lips full and red--enough like Arthur’s to make Merlin groan in counterpoint to the keening from that gorgeous mouth._

_The brunette returns to stroking "Arthur’s" cock, and Merlin kneads the taut skin of his balls, riveted by the slick slide of straining flesh through the tight fist he wishes was his own. Stroking himself in time with "Arthur’s" thrusts, his groan of disappointment mingles with "Arthur’s" as the hand is abruptly withdrawn._

_Suddenly there’s an even better view: "Arthur" up on his knees, legs spread wide, arse cheeks parted as he buries his face in the brunette’s arse._

_"Oh fuck!"_

_Breath coming faster now, Merlin speeds his stroke as he stares at the little rosy hole filling the screen. Could Arthur’s be just as pretty?_

__Fuuuuuuck_ _

_That’s when "Arthur" speaks, and Merlin’s mind shatters.  
 **"Turn over, yeah?"**_

_That’s all he says. Merlin’s never heard that voice so husky before, but…_

_Dropping his cock, Merlin rolls the video back, searching for the close-up he’d avoided earlier. There! Arthur’s face fills the screen. Not _nearly_ Arthur, it _is_ Arthur. Flushed and panting, perfect lips slack with pleasure, pupils blown so wide the blue is almost totally obscured. _

_Oh God, Arthur in a porno…a _gay_ porno. Excitement wars with shock and Merlin’s cock twitches, his balls drawing tight. Eyes filled with Arthur’s face, it takes only a few desperate strokes before he’s gasping and spilling, heedlessly spattering his release over desk and laptop. _

_Slumped and shivering with aftershocks, he watches in fascination as a drop of cum drips down Arthur’s cheek on the screen. He blinks several times making sure it isn’t wishful thinking seeing what it wants. But there’s no doubt. He watches the rest of the video in shock._

_It’s Arthur. His _straight_ boss. _Fucking a man_. On Merlin’s computer._

__

* * *

**67.**

Arthur groaned, throwing his head back as another slicked up finger slid into him. Three was a tight fit, but the other man didn’t care. He didn’t give Arthur a second to adjust, scissoring in and out of Arthur with gusto. He’d managed to find an angle that had Arthur burning with both pleasure and pain.

Yeah, Arthur thought as he relaxed around the fingers. Some things were worth coming clean.

Arthur was perfected in the art of secrets. How to find them, keep them, or use them to his advantage. Growing up with Morgana and Uther taught him how to lie flawlessly. 

But there were times when a man had to do what he had to do.

The fingers were gone suddenly, and Arthur clinched around nothing. He moaned as he felt lanky limbs crawl up the bed. Slicked up hands spread Arthur’s legs wide, and he gasped as a thick hardness rested against his arse. 

Arthur’s eyes were locked between them. When he finally looked up he was met with those infuriating blue eyes.

Arthur first saw them when he was out with his friends. He was leaning against the bar talking to Elena. Arthur only caught sight of them for a second before he was shoved, his mouth getting attacked by another man.

"What the hell!" He’d shouted, pushing him off. The man merely smirked, eyes shining with mirth.

"My bad, bro," the guy said, running his thumb across Arthur’s bottom lip. "Thought you looked like you needed a good snogging."

Arthur sputtered, "I’m not gay!"

Pendragon’s knew how to take things to the grave, and Arthur fully expected himself to die before he let anyone find that he actually was. But alas.

The man looked like he wanted to protest, but he rolled his eyes and stumbled closer to Arthur, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. "Me neither, mate."

Arthur pushed him off again.

"Aye, don’t get pushy, mate," A long haired guy warned. "We’re just having a bit of fun." 

Through his shock, Arthur seemed to miss his group of friends being infiltrated by a bunch of leather wearing, swoopy haired arseholes all clad in skinny jeans. Leon and Mithian were having their hair messed with by twins in matching combat boots. Lance was backed into the bar while a blue-eyed piece of jailbait with black hair grabbed on his junk. Gwen stood wide eyed, biting her knuckles as she watched, completely unaware of the short haired blonde girl who had expensive taste in her choice of black clothing that lurked behind her, smelling her neck. 

The kisser ignored his friends and Arthur both, walking over to Elena. "What about you, babe? Wanna good snogging?"

Elena blushed and giggled.

The long haired man raised a smug brow, and went to sit down next to Percy on a bar stool. Shamelessly checking the bigger man out as his Vans tapped to the beat of the song that played. 

Thinking back on the night caused Arthur to growl, because the man and his group of misfits had truly thought themselves clever. Being all dark, mysterious, and open minded, wooing their women; and if Lance was anything to go by, their men, too. Arthur decided to flip their positions on the small bed. The skinner man flailed a bit at being so easy handled. Arthur smirked. Just like the infuriating arsehole had earlier, right before planting one on Elena.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss either. His long fingers wrapped her up, pulling her close. His tongue visibly thrust into her mouth, Elena simply melting against him. 

That was when Arthur said screw his comfy, little closet to hell. Because the man made it a competition as he flicked those blue eyes straight toward Arthur and winked. 

And Arthur didn’t lose. Ever. 

So he stole the fucking show. Walked over, ripped the skinny fuck off her, and crashed their mouths together instead.

Arthur thought he’d definitely won as he sank down on the man’s thick cock, fucking himself until he came hard across the pale chest under him. The man cried out and spilled at nearly the same time. Arthur let himself enjoy the bliss for a second before he got up and started to locate his clothes.

"Woah," the man flailed into sitting position, grabbing Arthur’s arm to stop him. "Hi. I’m Merlin. You’re amazing. Let’s fuck forever."

Arthur snorted, but he got back in the bed feeling like a champion.

* * *

**68.**

Morgana moaned as Merlin thrust into her, his fingers brushing lightly over her clitoris, teasing her onto the brink.

"Merlin." She whimpered, biting her lip to keep from crying out more. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Merlin stopped abruptly. It couldn’t be. Morgana’s eye’ shone with the gold of magic, and the vase on the night table rattled ever so quietly. Could the Lady really be hiding a secret so big as magic? He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back.

"What is it?" She asked, sitting up to look at her lover. "Did I do something wrong?" Merlin looked at her eyes, they were back to their normal green.

"No." Merlin said, staring intently at her eyes. "It’s nothing, but for a moment I could have sworn your eyes glowed gold, and the vase on the night table moved. 

The Lady’s eyes grew wide for a moment, before schooling her features back into a calm façade taught from the many years at court. "What?" She smiled as if Merlin had told her he had a third eye. "That’s ridiculous, only people with magic have eye that glow gold."

The servant sighed. "I know magic when I see it, Morgana. You’re eyes glowed."

Morgana pulled away from Merlin and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her dark hair falling over her shoulder and covering her pale breasts. "I don’t have magic." She said through gritted teeth. 

"I won’t tell anyone." Merlin said, reaching out to comfort her. "Please, Morgana, you can trust me." 

"If I told anyone, they’re go running to Uther and he would show me no mercy." Morgana’s voice sounded small and distant. 

"Not if that person also had magic, and lived each day living in fear that it could be his last. That at any moment someone would find out and he would be executed."

Morgana turned and stared at Merlin. He couldn’t have magic, a boy so loyal to Arthur. She had heard the boy say many times that magic was evil. "And what would you know about this?" She asked warily. 

Merlin hesitated for a moment before whispering into his hand, his eyes glowing that frightening gold. A small flame danced in his palm. "You can touch it." He whispered. "It won’t hurt you."

Morgana brushed her fingers through the flame, nothing more than a warm heat touched her skin.  
"You don’t have to be afraid of your powers, Morgana" 

"How long have you had your magic?" Morgana asked, turning away and brushing a tear off her cheek.

Merlin gave her a crooked grin. "My whole life. I know better than anyone what you’re feeling."

Morgana turned back to her lover. "No one can ever know about this." She said.

Merlin laughed. "I’m a klutz, not stupid." He pulled her into a hug, the skin on skin contact calming the lady. "I can even teach you how to control it."

"I’d like that." Morgana gave a small smile.

Merlin kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I’ll teach you all I know, and I promise you that one day our kind won’t have to live in fear in Camelot."

* * *


	8. Group D (clean)

**69.**

[](http://imgur.com/ysAIq47)

* * *

**70.**

[](http://imgur.com/B9fx3cd)

* * *

**71.**

Merlin's secret is that he can't stop watching his king while he is having his _alone time_ , hidden away. and of course Arthur figures it out in the end and puts on a private show.

[](http://imgur.com/KKvOlKm)

* * *

**72.**

**They keep each other's secrets safe.**

[](http://imgur.com/vhUpBEG)

* * *

**73.**

[](http://imgur.com/buXeTep)

* * *

**74.**

[](http://imgur.com/a5CS22I)

* * *

**75.**

[](http://imgur.com/kwfFk48)

* * *

**76.**

[](http://imgur.com/f2wep1f)

* * *

**77.**

The secret is that Arthur is **really** into being manhandled by Merlin's magic, but doesn't know how to ask for it. That is, until Merlin catches on. 

[](http://imgur.com/1pL3MqU)

* * *

**78.**

[](http://imgur.com/2Nck5Qi)

Will whoever that is just pick up your phone!?

* * *


End file.
